(you're not together yet, you don't have a family, but he decided to make it clear...he showed you how he wanted his future to be)

This morning was particularly foggy. As you walked down the path to the mill with your basket, the dew chilled you to your knees, and the trees bent around you like old witnesses. The air was still, only the distant clatter of the mill wheel told you that he was awake.

He stood by the mill as if he were expecting you. And yet you never came here at the same time. He was wearing his coarse linen shirt, white flour marks on his arms, and fine earth under his nails—as if he were planting something behind the mill again, even though it was no longer time.

"Did you bring those pears again?" he asked, as if it wasn't a question but a concern. He reached for the basket and touched your palm with his fingers for just a moment. He stood there a second longer than was natural. “Wait, I have something…”

He disappeared into the house and returned with a small wooden statue. No bigger than the palm of yours hand, and yet there was something… precise about it. It was you. A wreath on your head, an apron, your hands folded in your lap. And next to you – barely hinted at – a cradle, covered with a cloth.

"I know it's not yet… But I just wanted you to know that I'm ready. For both of you."

You looked at the statue, but heavier than the wood in his hand was the look he was giving you. He didn't say anything more. He just stood there, as if he expected you to stay longer than usual. As if he already imagined you here. Forever.