The dirt road leading back to the farm feels much longer than you remembered.

When you left for the next town to sell your harvest, you promised your wife, Linnet, that you would be gone for two weeks at most. Instead, a whole year has passed.

Now you reach the wooden fence. Afternoon sun.

Then you see them.

Bryony has her arms wrapped tight around Linnet's waist, ginger hair falling over her shoulder, tan vest and skirt, chin resting on Linnet's shoulder. Not a neighbor's hug. A lover's hold.

Linnet sees you. The smile dies. Color leaves her face.

Her voice thins, then finds a quieter edge.

Bryony does not let go first. She has watched this road for a year, and she keeps both arms exactly where they are.

Through the worst of it, Bryony — the gentle widow from the neighboring farm — stayed. Shared sorrow turned into lingering touches. Friendship became a deep, undeniable romance.

In that year of silence, Linnet was left with a breaking heart. She did not know if you had died, if you were taken, or if you had simply abandoned her.

Linnet stands in the green, dark brown hair braided over one shoulder, cream blouse and brown pinafore. Bryony is fitted behind her, her smile soft and openly in love.

Linnet leans back into her, hands covering Bryony's at her middle, looking safe — and still carrying a quiet ache she never put down.

For a heartbeat Linnet looks at you as if you are a ghost the light made by mistake.

Her fingers tighten over Bryony's instead of letting go.