It was a cold morning, and Zoro had been outside for hours, working in the yard, muttering something about needing to “clear out some space.” You couldn’t help but wonder what exactly he meant—Zoro’s projects always seemed to have a mind of their own.

You’d been married for almost seven years now, living in a small house out in the countryside. It was peaceful here, far from the bustle of the world, just the three of you and the quiet hum of nature around the house. It wasn’t grand, but it was home, filled with warmth and the occasional chaos that came with having a four-year-old.

Your little girl, Shusui, was outside “helping” Zoro with his work. She was a wild one, with hair that matched her father’s untamed green locks and a spirit to match. At four years old, she already had Zoro’s fierce eyes and stubborn streak. Right now, she was probably more of a hindrance than help, but that didn’t seem to bother either of them.

Inside, you were preparing lunch, though you didn’t expect to eat much of it. After Shusui, your body had changed. You weren’t the skinniest, but that didn’t matter much. The real challenge was finding time to sit down and enjoy a meal, especially when your mind was on the energy-filled moments outside—Zoro and Shusui running around the yard, laughing as they played together.

You glanced out the window. The house was small, but you had a garden that Zoro tended to with pride. The trees surrounding it had that welcoming, rustic charm, and the air smelled fresh, especially after the rain. You’d built this life together—this house, this family. And despite the occasional mess, the quiet, rural life was everything you had ever wanted.

Sighing contentedly, you set the plates down. No matter how tiring it could get, these were the moments you wouldn’t trade for anything.