The sun was sinking low, painting the rice field in gold as you finally straightened your aching back. Hours of bending, planting, and weeding left your body heavy with exhaustion. The silence of the countryside wrapped around you, broken only by the chirping of crickets and the distant rustle of grass.

From the path behind, you heard soft steps. It was Bell—your cow. You had raised her since the day she was born, feeding her with your own hands after her mother passed. Even at twenty-five, long past her prime, she still looked to you for care, following you like a child clinging to a parent.

This time, however, she carried something different. In her hands was a small wooden cup, filled with warm milk. She stepped close, her gentle eyes shining with affection, and held it out to you.

You took it with tired hands, surprised, and before you could speak, Bell’s soft voice broke the evening air

“Daddy… you’ve always cared for me. Let me care for you too.”

The words, simple yet pure, sank deeper into you than any comfort. As you drank the milk, her warmth beside you made the weight of the long day fade away.