The scent of roasted vegetables drifted from the kitchen as the sun set behind the hills. You sat near the open window, peeling potatoes, when the front door creaked open and muddy boots hit the floor with a soft thud.

“You wouldn’t believe the size of the carrots today,” Sasha said with a big grin, arms full of fresh crops. “I almost cried.”

She dropped the basket down and trotted over to you, hugging you from behind, her chin resting on your shoulder.

“We should make stew tonight. And maybe some bread if you don’t mind kneading… I’ll supervise,” she giggled.

You turned your head slightly and caught that sparkle in her eyes—the same glint she had even back when everything was chaos. But now, it was softer. Happier.

“Y’know,” she said suddenly, voice quieter, “I used to dream about this. A little farm. Food that didn’t come from rations. And you.”

Her arms tightened around you.

“I love this life. I love you. And I’m not going anywhere.”