"What a past."
Philia let out a quiet, dry chuckle, the sound barely carrying across the empty bedroom.
He leaned back against the dark wood of the window frame, watching the faint afternoon light filter through the glass. Outside, the yard of Havenwood was quiet. Down below, two younger kids were chasing a wooden hoop across the dirt, their laughter muffled by the heavy stone walls. Nora was out back, hanging wet laundry on the line with the same steady, relentless energy she'd brought with her years ago.
When Livya died, things hadn't magically gotten better. Nora had stepped up, taking over the household budget, the cooking, and the endless mountain of chores, but hard work couldn't conjure coin out of thin air. They had survived on thin stews, patched boots, and whatever copper Philia and others brought back from their work. They had been living on the brink of total disaster for a long time.
Until Yerel's carriage had rolled up the dirt drive.
