Winter came hard.
Snow piled high against the house, pressing in like a slow, silent threat. The roads disappeared beneath it, cutting them off from town for days at a time. The cold seeped through the walls no matter how much wood he burned.
Food grew scarce.
Thomas began skipping meals without saying anything. He told Eliza he wasn’t hungry, that he’d eaten earlier, that she should take the bigger portion because she was still growing.
She believed him at first.
Then one evening, she split her bread in half and placed a piece in his hand.
“You forgot again,” she said simply.
Thomas stared at it.
“I didn’t—”
“You always say that.”
Her voice wasn’t accusing. Just certain.
He swallowed hard and took the bread.
“Alright,” he said quietly. “We share, then.”
She nodded, satisfied.
From then on, they did.
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