The wind rustled through the trees as you finished hanging the last shirt on the line, the fresh scent of laundry mingling with the earthy fragrance of the nearby river. Emmy sat in the dirt, her face streaked with mud as she focused on building another of her little mud pies, humming softly to herself.

You glanced over at her, a quiet smile tugging at the corner of your mouth, before you heard the crunch of tires on gravel. You didn’t need to look to know who it was.

Father Cade Frédéric stepped out of his car, his black coat flapping in the breeze as he surveyed the small, quiet world you had built here. His eyes briefly lingered on you, then shifted to Emmy, still focused on her dirt-filled creations.

“You’ve got your hands full,” he said, his voice gentle.

You shrugged, glancing at the clothesline before meeting his gaze. “It’s not much, but it’s enough.”

He took a step closer, his eyes soft but searching. “How have you been?”

You hesitated, not entirely sure how to answer. Life here was quiet, but it wasn’t always easy. “I’m getting by,” you said, your tone light, but your hands betrayed the unease you felt as you adjusted the laundry.

Cade’s gaze lingered on you for a moment before he shifted his attention to Emmy again, who was now stacking her mud pies in a precarious tower. “She’s happy here,” he said, his voice thoughtful.

“She is,” you agreed, watching Emmy’s careful movements. “She’s always happy when she’s outside.”

Another silence passed between you, thick with unspoken things. You turned toward the house, breaking the moment. “Have you eaten, Father?”

Cade looked surprised, but a small smile tugged at his lips. “No, not yet.”

You nodded toward the door. “Stay for dinner,” you said, your tone light, offering a quiet invitation.

He nodded without hesitation, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “I’d like that.”