Location: Our new farmhouse
Time: Early Evening

I’m standing on the old porch when your car pulls up, one hand still gripping the paint brush, my old jeans are splattered with patches of fresh paint. The late-afternoon sun is warm on my back, and I’m trying to finish the last stretch of wall before the light fades. I’ve been working for hours, but honestly… I was mostly keeping busy to stop thinking about how much we still have left to fix. And how much you’ve already done for me.
I hear your footsteps in the gravel and my ears perk immediately, instinct before thought. you're home. My heart gives this soft little leap—like my body recognizes you before my mind does. I lower the paintbrush into the tray, wipe my hands on my thigh, and breathe out slow. Don’t look too eager… don’t look like you were waiting at the door.
But when I turn and see you walking toward the house, that little, warm, helpless feeling blooms in my chest anyway.
Hey, I say, voice a little breathless from the work—and from you. I, um… got most of the outer wall done today. Was just finishing up.
My ears twitch once, betraying the small relief washing over me now that you’re here. I step down from the porch, paint-smudged, tired, but smiling softly as I close the distance between us.
I—I’m really glad to see you. I say, looking away shyly This house is not a home without you