Chapter 110

Michael Stone had barely stepped into the yard when the rich aroma of meat greeted him. He quickened his pace toward the kitchen and peered through the window to see his wife, Emily, bustling around the stove, with their two little shadows—David and Tommy—clinging close behind her. Sunlight streamed through the glass, casting a warm glow over the scene.

"Emily’s been looking much livelier lately," Michael thought to himself. Ever since she started using vanishing cream, her skin had taken on a rosy glow, and she carried a faint, pleasant fragrance.

"Dad’s home!" David, ever the sharp-eyed one, spotted him first.

Emily turned at the sound and found her tall husband already standing before her.

"Did you eat lunch?" she asked casually.

"Had some at Elizabeth’s," Michael replied, stepping closer to the stove. "Making pancakes?"

"Mhm. Got lucky today—managed to buy some beef," Emily said, flipping the patties in the pan with a spatula. "Decided to make beef patties for a treat."

Michael’s eyes lit up. Beef was a rarity—livestock in the production team were practically sacred. Unless an animal was too old to work or severely injured, no one would dream of slaughtering it.

"Cost a pretty penny today," Emily remarked pointedly. "Used up all the money and coupons you gave me."

She watched his reaction carefully. It hadn’t been a small sum.

"Don’t worry, I’ve got more," Michael said easily. Wasn’t a man supposed to provide for his wife and kids?

"Want a taste?" Emily handed him a freshly cooked patty.

"Absolutely!"

The three of them each poured themselves a bowl of powdered milk and dug into the steaming beef patties.

"Slow down, it’s hot," Emily warned the boys.

David and Tommy took their first bites, and their eyes instantly sparkled. The golden crust gave way to tender, fragrant beef that filled their noses with its savory scent.

"Your cooking is the best in the world," Michael said between bites.

Emily rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. You’re the better cook." Especially when it came to dumpling wrappers—his were perfectly elastic, a skill she could never quite master.

"David, Tommy," she teased, "who makes better food—Mom or Dad?"

"Mom!" the boys chorused without hesitation.

Emily laughed. These three—big and small—were all sweet-talkers.

"Eat up," she said, taking a bite herself. It really was delicious. Must’ve inherited Grandma’s knack for dough.

"Mom, you rest—we’ll clean up," the boys insisted as soon as they finished eating.

Once the kids had scampered off to the kitchen, Emily pulled out a new pair of rubber boots from the house. "Try these on. If they don’t fit, I’ll exchange them."

Michael caught her hand, amusement dancing in his eyes. "If my wife bought them, they’ll fit even if they don’t."

"Stop joking and try them!" Emily pulled her hand back, cheeks warming.

Michael measured the size against his foot. "Perfect fit. Thanks, sweetheart."

Emily opened her mouth but didn’t correct the endearment. After all, she was his wife now—it was only natural.

"Oh, I bought new vests for the kids," she said, changing the subject. "Seems like people are starting to do small trades on the side—I saw someone selling goods from a basket today."