Outside, Noah tripped on a tree root and let out a brief cry.

Before I could move, Oliver ran over and helped his brother up, brushing the dirt off his knees.

Noah wiped his nose on his sleeve and began to laugh again, pointing at a bird in the pine trees.

They did not know about the safe houses, the snipers, or the empire that had almost claimed their lives.

They only knew the lake, the woods, and the quiet house with the blue siding.

“They are going to grow up healthy here,” Adrian said, watching them through the glass.

“Yes,” I said, resting my hand on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart.

“They are,” I added.

The sun began to dip below the tree line, casting long, warm shadows across the grass.

Adrian opened the screen door and called the children inside for dinner.

They came running, their small feet thumping loudly against the wooden porch steps.

I set five mismatched plates on the wooden table.

It was an ordinary evening, in an ordinary house, and it was everything we had ever wanted.