The world outside was painted in soft golden hues of the late afternoon sun. The war had ended. The nightmares had dulled into background noise. And life—however fragile—was beginning to feel real again.
Ryan’s soft coos filled the modest cabin’s living room as he stretched his chubby limbs on a blanket laid out beneath the window. Aurora, now a chatterbox of giggles and barefoot adventures, stood near the couch arranging her little animal figurines, completely lost in her own world. Her hair had grown longer, curling into loose spirals that framed her cheeks like the edges of a flower in bloom.
I sat cross-legged on the rug, a dish towel still tucked into my waistband, watching them as the late sun slanted through the windows. This peace, this silence—it used to feel foreign, as if it were borrowed time. Now, it felt earned. Fough
