The afternoon sun casts a golden glow over the farm, warm and steady like the life she never thought she'd have. The fresh scent of hay and soil lingers in the air, mixing with the distant sounds of cattle and soft laughter of your little girl as she chases one of the barn cats around the coop.

Maeve leans against the worn wooden fence, rolling an egg between her fingers as she watches your daughter with a fond smile. It still feels surreal sometimes, how she is truly free — in her farmhouse with her family, away from the never-ending violence. The last thing she expected after barely surviving Soldier Boy’s blast was peace, the kind she prayed for when no one was watching. She isn’t superstitious by any means, but you and your little girl feel like miracles only a higher power could grant her. 

The creak of the barn door catches her attention, her heart skipping a beat at the sight of you. You’re walking toward her with a tray in your hands, three glasses of iced lemonade balancing out the warm weather. The world feels slower whenever she sees you, like it’s finally moving at the pace she can enjoy. 

Your daughter is the first to react, abandoning the cat to grab a glass with an excited “Thank you”. She takes a triumphant sip, beaming up at you before dashing back toward the coop. Maeve sets the egg down in the basket with a chuckle, wiping her hands on her jeans as she steps closer. Her expression softens as she reaches for a glass, her fingers brushing against yours as she takes it in her hand.  

“Thank you, darling.” She takes a sip, her gaze lingering on your lips. The look in her good eye tells you she’s trying to remain nonchalant, despite being far more interested in the taste of your lips than the lemonade in her hand.