The Cottage by the Marsh
Six months passed.
The salty breeze of early summer drifted through the open windows of a small, shingled cottage on the coast of Maine.
Clara stood in the bright, cheerful kitchen, slicing fresh strawberries into a ceramic bowl. The kitchen was modest—weathered pine cabinets, open shelves holding hand-thrown pottery, and large windows overlooking the tidal marsh where snowy egrets fished in the shallows.
In the center of the living room rug, six-month-old Oliver sat propped up against a giant plush turtle, babbling happily as he banged a wooden rattle against the floor.
His cheeks were round and flushed with health, his dark eyes bright and curious. The scar down the center of his chest had faded to a thin, silver line—a quiet testament to the battle he had won before he even knew his own name.
The screen door clicked open.
Clara’s sister, Maya, walked in carrying a basket of fresh vegetables from the local community farm where Clara had taken a part-time role as a landscape designer.
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"The soil analysis for the coastal preservation garden came back," Maya announced with a wide smile, setting the basket on the counter. "The town council approved your design unanimously. They want groundbreaking to start next month."
Clara smiled, wiping her hands on her apron. "Real flowers this time. Native perennials that can handle the winter storms."
