Evening came in slowly over the house by the river. The light softened without drama, turning the water the color of dulled metal and stretching long shadows across the garden.
Clara finished her notes at the clinic desk, locked the door, and hung the key on the nail by the frame the way she always did.
Outside, Eli rinsed the last of the soil from her hands at the pump, shook the water off, and stacked the tools against the shed wall. Inside, Lara moved through the kitchen with the same steady focus she had once used for campaign maps.
Tonight it produced stewed lentils, a loaf of bread still warm from the oven, and the final bunch of radishes pulled from the garden that morning.
They carried the bowls outside and sat on the low bench that faced the water. The river air moved through the open windows and doors, carrying the smell of damp earth and the first cool of night. Conversation stayed ordinary.
