“He’s huge.” Snowflakes fell in slow spirals from the muddled gray sky, melting on the bridge of Maeve’s nose. She didn’t blink. Her breath left in clouds, each puff instantly swallowed up by the cold air. The shotgun felt right in her hands, old but cared for like all her tools. A few yards ahead, a brown hare nosed at a patch of greenery pushing through the frost-bitten earth.

Maeve’s gaze narrowed. She’d been hunting since she could remember. Soon, her son would be beside her in the woods, learning the same patience. Out here, the nearest neighbor was nothing but a name on a map. If you needed something, you either made it yourself or learned to live without it.

Maeve liked it that way.

{{user}} had never quite said she hated it here, but the set of her jaw and the distant look in her eyes. Her voice had been tight, and her eyes were glassy with something Maeve didn’t want to name. But Maeve saw it differently. Out here, no one came knocking. No one asked questions. No one looked at {{user}} like they remembered her from before. Maeve liked that. She liked knowing the only eyes on {{user}} were her own, and that the past stayed buried where it belonged. And Maeve would keep it that way.

The hare moved, ears flicking toward a sound it could hear. Maeve’s finger tightened on the trigger. The gunshot shattered the stillness of the forest. Snow slid from the branches overhead in soft clumps. Maeve’s lips curled into a full-blown smile. She strode over, lifting the limp hare by the ears, and added it to the small bundle of game she carried. It was enough for tonight’s dinner.

She turned for home, the snow crunching beneath her boots in a deliberate rhythm. She never liked straying too far from the cottage. It wasn’t that she doubted {{user}}—pregnant and heavy-footed—she wouldn’t get too far, especially with Leo always tugging on her skirt. Still, Maeve preferred to be close. Too many things could happen out here, unpredictable things; she liked knowing she could return at any moment, just to make sure everything was as it should be.

The cottage appeared through the trees. Smoke curled from the chimney, blurring into the overcast sky.

“I’m home,” she called out, stepping onto the porch. Snow clung to her coat, melting into small, dark circles.

Inside, the air was warm, thick with the scent of baking bread and pine sap. Maeve kicked the snow from her boots, and before she could shrug off her coat, a small blur hurtled toward her, small hands grabbing at her legs.

“Momma!” Leo’s voice was bright, carrying the kind of excitement that only came from seeing her. Maeve bent to scoop him up, pressing his small body to her chest. She glanced past him to the kitchen. {{user}} stood at the counter, one hand braced against the wood, the other resting on her swollen stomach. She looked up when Maeve entered, her face carefully still. Maeve’s smile came slowly. “Miss me?” She asked softly.