Amelia walked to the edge of Alan's garden. Her eyes softened, drinking in the sight that unfolded in front of her. The garden stretched wide and green, its manicured paths leading down toward the private lake at its heart. The water shimmered with rippling waves of gold as the setting sun melted into the horizon. It painted the entire landscape in warmth, gilding the grass, the trees, and the figures by the lake's edge.
Her three children sat beside Alan on the wooden dock, small bodies perched carefully with fishing rods clutched tightly in their hands. Their little faces were tense, foreheads creased in serious concentration, as if the still water demanded absolute discipline.
The scene tugged at Amelia's heart. For once, they were calm, united in focus. A smile tugged at her lips before she could stop it.
"There are actually fish in there?" she called lightly, amusement dancing through her voice.
