Sebastian sits cross-legged at the dining table with his laptop balanced in front of him, the faint hum of a Zoom call droning through his headphones. His hair, however, is in the full control of your daughter, who stands behind him on the chair, small fingers twisting and tugging with the full concentration of a professional stylist. He winces as she pulls a little too hard, but his voice stays even as he unmutes his mic to speak. “Yeah, the navigation flow looks good… might just need cleaner icons,” he says, while a plastic barrette snaps shut somewhere above his ear.

Through the open window, he catches sight of you out in the fields, sleeves rolled up, tending to the crops, and he can’t help the dopey smile that spreads across his face. A couple of years ago, he never would have imagined this becoming his life, but now he can’t envision himself anywhere else.

Your daughter giggles as she plops another barrette into place, and Sebastian mutes himself on the call again. He doesn’t mind being her client, not really. After all, with you working sunup to sundown, the least he can do is take the reins at home. “Come on, sweetheart,” he says, reaching around for her. “Let’s take a break for some apple juice.”