It's a mellow, securing April dusk.
A soothing breeze dances through the silver maple, ash, and boxelder trees, making their marvellous leaves shimmer and sway.
In Neva's little cottage garden, roses, poppies, cornflowers, daisies, dahlias, cosmos, claytonias, gypsophilas, and more bloom in quiet harmony.
She rests, leaned back in her cosy balcony on a wooden, cushioned armchair—beautified in a pleasant white summer dress adorned with soft florals.
The golden dusk, the playful, feathery breeze, and the sweet scent of April in the air—soothe her soul like a lullaby.
She exhales gently, eyes focused on her tender fingers as she knits a light blue sock for her unborn baby. So far, she has finished a beanie with earflaps, and several pairs of tiny beige and grey booties.
With her husband away—working at a countryside car maintenance store—Neva immerses herself in homemaking.
Cooking, gardening, knitting, crocheting… preparing for the little life growing inside her.
The pay is decent, even if not as high as owning the store himself.
The garage is only a short walk away, conveniently close.
Rhett doesn't really need the job. He could walk away tomorrow but still they wouldn't have to worry about finances.
But blending in matters.
The hum of wrenches, the streak of grease on his clothes—it's his camouflage, his way of folding himself into the quiet rhythm of this little countryside.
And they're attempting a quiet life.
Beneath that simple life, though, runs a deeper current.
He once promised her nothing would be hidden from her anymore, and he's kept it.
She knows about the salary that flows clean and official into a government account, about the funds he tucks away in places she cannot name, the identities that no longer belong to anyone but him.
She doesn't understand all the methods—the systems.
But she understands the heart behind it.
He's building something enduring. Not just a shelter from the world—but a world within a shelter.
As for Neva—she has nothing of her own.
No ID, no card, no name the world would recognize. But one night, he pressed a small card into her hand, and told her, Everything I have is yours.
Financially, they are stable.
And he's prepared for anything. She admires how sharp he is. How calm. How he flows like a steady river, even in a storm.
But with a child on the way, he was afraid their reserves might dry out.
So, he took the job at the local auto shop—a peaceful job with a generous wage.
He could make more—far more—as an agent. There's a thrill in being a soldier.
A rush. A meaning.
But then he fell in love—and the woman he fell for arrived like a storm in a season most inconvenient.
Yet he married her. And now she carries his child.
And Rhett will give them the warmth of a world they never need escape from.
Neva caresses her small bump, patting it fondly. Her womb stretches, her belly gently swelling with each passing day. She sinks into the realization—slowly, soulfully—that she is growing life. She has entered her second trimester and begins to look forward to the first flutters of movement.
She sighs softly, lifting her gaze. The air hums with the hush before a storm. The sky deepens to grey, dark clouds veiling the golden dusk.
Finishing the last stitch, she sews the tiny sock closed with a yarn darner—her fingers graceful and focused. Another pair, flawless.
Familiar footsteps stir her gaze from the craft—and there he is.
Rhett walks through their flower-laced yard, smiling at her. She mirrors his smile, her heart blooming at the sight of her breathtakingly handsome husband.
She rises slowly, setting the yarn and needle on the coffee table.
She walks toward him, steps hurried, her smile widening as he opens his arms.
He reaches her and pulls her into a warm, familiar embrace.
"I missed you..." Neva murmurs against his chest, peeking up to meet his gaze.
"I missed you more," he says, fingers brushing her soft hair from her face.
He leans in, kissing her soft and lingering, pouring into it all the love he'd stored in his silence.
"How was work?" she murmurs after they lean back, eyes gentle as she wipes the faint traces of grease still clinging to his cheek bone and brow, even after he's probably cleaned up. His earth-toned mechanic's jacket, rolled to his elbows, is streaked and soiled from the day's labor.
"It was alright," he says, a soft smile tugging at his lips at her warm gesture.
Her floral scent, mingling with the sweat and grease clinging to him, ushering him home.
"And yours? How was your day?" he asks, tucking her under his arm as they stroll back toward the house. "Are you feeling okay?"
"I'm fine," she says with a small nod. "It was a quiet day."
"What did you do?"
She parts from him gently, her gleaming eyes still threaded with his, while his passionate gaze clings to her as she slowly steps backward.
Turning to the coffee table with a smile, she gathers her yarn, needle, scissors, and knitting pins into a wooden sewing box.
But she pauses, lifting the new pair of tiny socks she has just finished knitting.
"I read, strolled in the garden… and knitted," she says as she returns to him.
He sees the sock in her hands, eyes softening.
"You made another one?" He asks gently, his chest swelling up with tenderness. She's already so lovingly attached to their child.
She nods, handing him the tiny pieces.
"I did."
"How are you so good at everything?" he marvels, holding the socks between his fingers, awe glittering in his cocoa eyes.
"I'm not," she laughs softly, turning toward the doorway.
He follows, smiling like a boy in love.
"What would you like for dinner?" Neva's faint voice drifts through the cottage.
"Anything you make is delicious," Rhett shrugs, closing the door behind them—leaving their world sealed in warmth.
Outside, the earth shivers under the coming storm.
Wind rattles the trees, the bushes, the fragile flowering plants.
Dust swirls, petals scatter.
Tonight, the sky will bring more than an April shower.
And quietly, she prays the sky will not mirror the days to come.