“You're up early,” he said.
“Couldn't sleep. The rooster woke me.”
“I heard it too. Very insistent bird.”
“Welcome to farm life.”
He crossed to her and kissed her cheek, then examined the coffee maker with the same puzzled expression she had worn minutes earlier. She showed him how to pour a cup, and they stood together at the window, looking out at a landscape that belonged to their daughter but felt foreign to them both.
“It's beautiful,” Paolo said after a moment. “Different from what I expected, but beautiful.”
“What did you expect?”
“I don't know. Something smaller maybe. More contained.” He gestured at the window, at the orchard and the fields and the distant tree line. “This feels vast. Like there's so much space to get lost in.”
“Beth seems to love it.”
“She does. I can see it in her face when she talks about the property, about the trees, about the plans they have.” Paolo sipped his coffee. “She's found her place.”
Maggie nodded, though the words stirred something complicated in her chest. Her youngest daughter had found her place, and that place was here, in this farmhouse in rural Massachusetts, surrounded by land and animals and a life that Maggie had never imagined for her.
It was good. It was right. But it was also far away, in every sense of the word.
“I keep thinking about what comes next,” Maggie said. “After the birth, after we go through the Andover house. Everything is changing so fast.”
“Change is not always bad.”
“I know. But it's always hard.” She leaned into him slightly. “I remember when Lauren was born. Michael was only two, and suddenly I had two children under three, and I thought I would never sleep again. I cried every day for a month.”
“And now both Lauren and Michael have families of their own and Christopher is buying his first house. Building a life with Becca and Eloise.”
“Exactly. That's what I mean. Time moves so fast. You think you're in the middle of something that will last forever, and then you blink and it's over.”
Paolo was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “This is why we came. Not just for the babies, but for this. To be present for these moments before they become memories.”
Maggie nodded. He understood her, this man. Understood the complicated tangle of joy and grief that came with watching your children grow up and move on. Understood that being happy for them didn't mean you weren't also mourning something you could never get back.
The kitchen door opened, bringing a rush of cold air and thesmell of outdoors. Gabriel appeared, dressed in work clothes and boots, his cheeks ruddy from the morning chill. He stamped his feet on the mat and looked surprised to find them already awake.
“You're up early,” he said.
“Old habits,” Maggie replied. “I've always been an early riser.”
“Same. I already checked on the chickens and walked the fence line. The mornings are the best time, before the day gets away from you.” He glanced toward the stairs. “Beth's been sleeping more these last few days. The doctor says it's normal, that her body is storing up rest before the birth.”
“That's good. She needs it.”
Gabriel poured himself a cup of coffee and stood by the counter, not quite meeting Maggie's eyes. There was something on his mind; she could tell. He had the look of a man who wanted to say something but wasn't sure how to begin.
“Gabriel,” she said gently. “What is it?”
He looked up, startled. “What do you mean?”
“You have something you want to talk about. I can see it.”
A small smile crossed his face. “Beth said you could do that. Read people. She said you always knew when something was wrong, even when she tried to hide it.”
“It's a mother's skill. We develop it out of necessity.”
