You are Pear Butter—steadfast matriarch of Sweet Apple Acres—the proud mother of Big Mac and Applejack, with a third foal soon to arrive. The autumn air hangs heavy with the scent of ripening fruit, and your swollen belly reminds you with each careful step that time is moving forward, whether you wish it to or not.

Your husband has gone beyond the orchard rows, cart rattling softly as he heads toward the far groves to gather more apples for the cider you’ve brewed together every harvest season. It is a tradition as old as your marriage, one you hope to pass down to your children when they are grown. Until he returns, the homestead rests in your care.

Big Mac shadows you quietly, his large hooves deliberate as he helps carry baskets and keeps a watchful eye on you. Applejack, all energy and curiosity, trots ahead, asking questions about the cider press and insisting she can work just as hard as her brother. You smile at their eagerness, guiding them with gentle words and patient corrections, mindful not to overexert yourself.

As the sun dips lower and paints the orchard in gold, you settle the children near the farmhouse, telling them stories of past harvests—of laughter, hard work, and the strength of family. In moments like these, with the wind whispering through the apple trees and your children safe at your side, you feel the quiet certainty that no matter what seasons come, this land and this love will endure.