A September evening settles gently over the earth. A sweet, crisp breeze feathers across golden leaves, swaying beneath the warmth of the setting sun.
The ponderous, saccharine scent of apple orchards wafts through the air.
Leaves wriggle free from slender twigs, twirling into the gusts of autumn wind.
Her little yard—rooted in the soul of a nostalgic meadow—blossoms with the brightest flowers.
Vibrant bees and butterflies hover above, while elfin seed-eating birds sneak away at the slightest glance.
The sweet whistling of kaleidoscopic birds fills the air.
The aura is romantic and warm. For a moment, time stills. Heaven spills its miracles upon the cottage, heralding a poetic, faithful fairy-autumn.
Neva hums softly, singing a symphonious lullaby while resting on the vintage, faded moss-green cushioned rocking chair. Her newborn baby lies nestled in her arms as she sways him ever so tenderly.
Her loving, motherly gaze settles on his angelic face—his blurry coffee-colored eyes blinking up at her alluring ones.
She smiles, leaning down to press a tender kiss to his delicate forehead. Her heart swells with quiet euphoria.
She couldn't be more grateful for little Rhean, wrapped warm in her embrace.
He's bundled in a woolly, beige hooded blanket with tiny ears over his beanie, a white sweater and pants set, and the plushy socks she knitted.
Her eyes brim with tears.
The angel-faced baby—the most precious child.
As Rhean's sleepy eyelids begin to close, Neva gazes over her flowering yard and exhales a serene sigh. A week has passed since she gave birth—waves of overwhelming happiness, tears, and unfamiliar emotions have rained down upon her.
This new, colorful journey is exhausting, tender, and tough, but it's already proving to be abundantly rewarding for her and her husband.
She adjusts her lukewarm maroon shawl, wrapping it gently around the now slumbering baby. He's a loud crier at times—but mostly, he's been calm.
She still remembers all those painful kicks in her belly. She wonders how this peaceful child can be the same baby who once stirred storms inside her.
"Is he asleep?"
The sudden voice makes her flinch lightly from her reverie. She glances up to see Rhett approaching, a charming smile on his face. She returns the smile, then looks back down at their baby boy.
"Yes, he is," she whispers with a smile.
Rhett leans over them, his gentle eyes trailing from their son up to Neva's glistening gaze. He caresses her cheek and feathers a loving kiss onto her lips.
"I didn't realize you were this close," she says with a bashful smile.
He mirrors her expression and takes a seat on the chair beside the small coffee table. Waving a black camera before her, he says, "I've been here all along—recording memories."
Neva's eyes light up in surprise. "Of course you've secretly captured another souvenir."
"Now," he grins, holding up the camera again, "a close-up."
Before she can protest, he leans back and snaps a candid photo of mother and son.
"Gosh, at least let me pose," she huffs, playfully offended.
Rhett chuckles, a low, affectionate sound. "You're heavenly just breathing."
A deep blush of crimson rose rises in her fair cheeks.
Her hair is elegantly tousled—loosely braided, with free curls cascading down.
The maroon shawl drapes over her comfy floral white prairie dress.
She's always looked more enchantingly beautiful than ever.
She's the perfect mother to their boy, and Rhett finds himself unable to look away.
He's falling deeper still. Looking between her and Rhean, he smiles. His little family sprouting deep and blooming in his heart like a secret garden.
He never dreamed he could ever be capable of loving someone this intense.
He never imagined anyone but him could be this blessed.
"You want to hold him?" Neva asks softly, her eyes threading into his.
He nods, "Alright."
Setting the camera on the table, he smooths out the creases of his black t-shirt and reaches for the baby.
Neva murmurs gentle words as she carefully transfers the shuffling infant—making small baby noises into his arms.
The baby settles in Rhett's embrace, relaxing again with soft coos.
"Rhean looks even tinier in your arms," Neva muses, resting her chin on her hands, elbows propped on her knees.
"He does," Rhett agrees, gazing at her and back at the baby. "God, he's so tiny."
He strokes the baby's pink, chubby cheek with his thumb, earning a little wiggle in response.
"I know," Neva murmurs, wonder in her voice. "And he's already grown so much. He's not even two weeks old yet."
"Well, he's a big eater—and a deep sleeper," Rhett chuckles, shrugging with a tilt of his head.
Neva giggles and reaches for the camera on the table.
With one eye closed, she frames the perfect moment—her handsome husband and their adorable son—and with a soft click, captures a lovely picture of her two favorite boys. Behind them, her vibrant flower meadow and the green trees stand as a living backdrop, immortalizing the scenery in memories.
And in the quiet of her heart, Neva whispers a silent prayer of thanks to her Father in Heaven—how could she ever deserve something so divine?
A little while later, as the sun dims and the moon glows luminous, the cold wind breezes gently through the open windows. The lacy white curtains flutter in the twilight.
The balcony grows chillier, and Rhett suggests they head inside to the warmth of their home.
"What do you want for dinner?" he asks, cradling the baby while strolling in beside Neva.
"You don't need to make anything," she smiles. "Mrs. Barlowe insisted—she's bringing us dinner tonight."
Wrapped in joy, the evening settles into a hush—a haven of peace and warmth.
Voices fade.
Shadows melt into the gentle lamplight of the assured, cherished cottage home.