Chapter 22

Emily Johnson flipped open her physics textbook, her fingers tracing the familiar formulas. Though years had passed since high school, the knowledge seemed etched in her bones. She decided to review both liberal arts and sciences before making a final choice after a month of study.

"Mommy..."

Tommy's sweet voice drifted in from the yard. Emily set the book aside and stepped outside. In the golden evening light, her two boys were staring longingly at the peaches hanging from the tree.

"What's wrong?"

"Mommy, can we have that peach?" David pointed at the ripe red fruit, his little face full of hope.

Emily's heart softened. She crouched to their eye level. "You can have anything in our home. But remember, don't eat too much, or you won't have room for dinner."

She plucked two peaches, carefully washing off the fuzz. Watching the boys happily munching on the fruit, she couldn't help but smile. Such simple joys made them beam with delight.

"Take a nap after this. What would you like for dinner?"

Their eyes lit up. Ever since their mother had changed, this was the first time they'd been given a choice.

"Milk powder!" Tommy blurted eagerly.

"How about sweet potato ball soup tonight, and milk powder tomorrow morning?" Emily suggested gently.

"Okay!" they chorused.

In the kitchen that evening, Emily prepared shrimp paste, mincing the meat and mixing it with a bit of starch. As the balls simmered in the pot, she wondered how to explain why these "sweet potato balls" tasted different.

"Mommy, these are so good!" David said, his mouth shiny with broth.

Tommy nodded vigorously. "Can we have them again tomorrow?"

Emily stifled a laugh. These silly boys couldn't even recognize shrimp. She made a mental note to improve their nutrition.

"We'll try something new tomorrow."

After dinner, the boys efficiently cleared the table. Emily no longer worried about them washing dishes—country children learned to help early in this era.

Before full darkness fell, Emily hurried to heat water for a bath. Though the old house was humble, having a dedicated washroom was a luxury she appreciated.

"Emily! Emily!"

She had just stepped out, drying her hair, when urgent shouts came from the yard. Her pulse quickened—who would visit so late?

David ran to open the gate. A young woman in her early twenties stood there, greeting Emily warmly. "Emily, you're still up?"

Emily studied the stranger warily. The familiarity in her tone suggested she was a friend of the original owner—someone Emily didn't recognize.

"Can I help you?" Emily kept her voice neutral, subtly shielding the boys.

The kerosene lamp cast flickering shadows across the yard as night deepened. The uninvited guest's arrival stirred an uneasy feeling in Emily's chest.