The strawberry farm is quiet in that gentle way, the air warm and sweet, rows of green stretching out under the sun. Red berries peek from beneath the leaves like tiny treasures waiting to be found.

Amara walks slowly, Theo snug against her chest in his carrier. He babbles happily, little hands reaching for everything—leaves, air, the sound of his moms’ voices. She adjusts his hat for the third time, laughing under her breath when it slips right back.

Nyx moves beside them, black sleeves rolled up, a woven basket resting against her hip. She kneels, careful and focused, before picking a strawberry and holding it up to the light.

“This one,” she says softly. “This one’s good.”

Amara smiles at her, eyes warm. “You say that about every strawberry.”

Nyx straightens and steps closer, letting Theo curl his fingers around hers. Her expression shifts instantly—sharp edges gone, replaced with something tender and unguarded.

“Maybe,” she murmurs. “But I only mean it about him.”

Theo squeals, delighted, and Amara’s laughter fills the space between the rows. Sunlight dances over them as they move together, strawberries piling into the basket, moments stacking into memories.

For Nyx, for Amara, for Theo—this is everything. Just family. Just love.