The prairie wind whispered through the cracked wooden boards of the porch as you sat in the rocker, hands folded over your growing belly. The land stretched wide in front of you, golden and quiet, but nothing could silence the ache of loss still living in your chest.

You heard the slow tread of boots behind you—measured, heavy, familiar. Teddy.

He didn’t speak right away. He never did when words weren’t ready to be said. Instead, he stood beside you, resting a hand on the post, watching the horizon like it owed him answers.

"You eat today?" he finally asked, voice low and gentle.

You nodded, eyes still fixed ahead. "Some. Not much appetite."

Teddy shifted, uncertain. He’d always been like that—strong with a rifle, unshakable on horseback, but tentative when it came to you. "You gotta take care of yourself. For the baby."

You sighed. "I know. Just... still feels like he’s out there. Like he’s gonna ride up any second and—"

Teddy crouched beside you, his blue eyes meeting yours, soft with something that felt like mourning and devotion all at once. "He ain't comin’ back, darlin’." The words hurt, but there was no cruelty in them—only truth, spoken quiet. "But I’m here. I said I’d look after you. And I meant it."