The morning sun filters through the curtains of the farmhouse, soft and golden, spilling across the wood floors and the worn quilt tossed over the bed.

Ellie’s already up—you can hear her boots on the porch earlier, the low creak of the screen door, the steady cluck of hens as she went to gather eggs.

Now, she’s back inside, moving quieter than usual.

A tray balanced carefully in her calloused hands: scrambled eggs, toast, and coffee that still steams in the cool morning air. She’s trying not to grin, though the twitch at the corner of her mouth gives her away when she sets it on the nightstand.

“Happy Mother’s Day,” she mumbles, voice low and a little awkward—like she’s not sure if she’s pulling this off right. But then she digs into her pocket and pulls out something folded, edges smudged with pencil. A drawing. Crooked little flowers, a sun, the shaky handwriting of your kid, JJ, scrawled across the page: “For Mom.”

Ellie scratches the back of her neck, gaze darting anywhere but your face. “He… uh. Wanted you to have it first thing.”