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I nodded as if I knew anything about what that entailed as we closed in on the stable.

John hopped off Ghost’s back and led both horses towards the gate of a large paddock that enclosed the back of the stable and barn.

He opened it and walked us across the pasture to the back door of the stable, then gave it a hard shove.

The door squealed painfully as he pushed it open, hinges badly needing oil. Ghost walked into the stable on her own and Bella followed—they still clearly felt right at home. John took my hand and helped me dismount. He went to start unsaddling Ghost.

“Wait,” I said, and he stopped, giving me a quizzical look.

“You not get enough?” he said, raising an eyebrow. “You did good today, but we have a lot to do. We can ride again tomorrow if you want.”

I shook my head. “Not me. I wanted to see you ride. It’s only fair…unless, of course, you’re the chicken one.”

It was a childish taunt, but I knew it’d work. John never backed down from a challenge, even one so juvenile.

Sure enough, he grinned and led Ghost toward the back of the stable. I followed him out into the wide-open space and watched as he mounted Ghost as easily as he climbed out of bed in the morning.

I stopped for a moment to admire John on horseback.

He cut a striking figure in his leather hunting jacket, sitting up tall, all sharp angles and masculine grace.

He looked completely in control, reins clasped in hand and his jaw set in concentration.

A slight flush rose to my cheek; I never thought I’d be turned on by horseback riding, but there was a first for everything.

“Come on,” I said, grinning. “You have to at least show me a bit of what you can do.”

“I'm rusty,” he protested, and maybe that would've worked on a stranger, but I knew him better than that .

“Go on, then,” I said with an exaggerated shrug. “You said I was doing well, so I've set the bar. Rise to the challenge.”

John laughed. “Alright, alright. Wouldn’t want to be shown up by my rookie wife now, would I?”

Wife. My heart still beat faster whenever he called me that.

I wanted it to be official so badly. I wanted to wear his ring and take his name and be a part of this place that he obviously loved so much.

I wanted to belong here, and by extension, belong to him—always.

I’d had a taste of what family and community could mean for the first time in my life, and it awakened a painful yearning.

With my passionless assigned marriage and my dysfunctional family, I hadn’t known what I was missing until now.

John clicked his tongue and Ghost started forwards.

Gradually, he urged her into a full-on gallop around the paddock, rapidly switching directions and holding the form he had taught me earlier.

It was as I suspected: he was good, but acted like it was nothing.

He had a unique ability to pick things up quickly with an ease and confidence that would make anyone feel inadequate.

Anything that involved active participation to learn, he was able to simply absorb, as if by osmosis.

He may not have read Hemingway or known what the Eiffel Tower was, and the so-called ‘guardians of culture’ at the Cave would’ve sneered at him, but he was the smartest person I’d ever met.

Galloping around the paddock, he looked happy, like he was finally back where he belonged, and it made me feel warm inside.

“Is that supposed to impress me, Wastelander?” I called, goading him.

John made a face at me, then cast his eyes over at the gate at the far end of the paddock.

He spurred Ghost into a gallop again, building speed by circling a few times.

He steered towards the fence, and it took me a second to realize what he was doing.

The horse jumped and I yelped, but of course, he had things well in hand.

They cleared the fence easily, and John laughed with pure exhilaration.

“Now you're just showing off,” I shouted to him.

“Maybe a little,” he called back, laughing some more. “Do not try that yourself.”

He certainly had nothing to worry about on that front…though I did wonder what jumping might be like, and how it was done, and it even looked sort of …fun. Who am I?

John returned to the stable with Ghost, then showed me each step and let me brush Ghost while he removed Bella’s reins. We eventually got both horses into their stalls, which had been cleaned and filled with water and fresh hay.

“That was job one yesterday,” John commented. “Until I get the truck up and running, they’re going to be the main form of transportation.”

The stable was far fuller than I would’ve expected, with hay bales, bags of feed, and various other supplies.

“Where’d you get all this stuff?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Danny delivered it,” he replied. “Traded him a couple PNCs for it.”

“Is that your strategy? To trade them for the things you need to get back up and running?”

“Yep,” he confirmed. “Thankfully, with all you found for us, we have more than we’ll ever need to trade. That said, we need a lot—not just farm supplies, but basic things like clothes and food. We can’t grow much till spring, and I don’t think those pants are gonna survive another season.”

He nodded at the pants I was wearing, and I felt unaccountably embarrassed at how frayed they were, and the patches I’d sewn in multiple places.

I hadn’t thought much about the fact that everything I owned could fit into a backpack while we were on the road, but now, amongst all this, it seemed like a sorry state to be in.

“My pants are fine,” I said quietly, not wanting to ask him for even more when he’d already given me so much. “I don’t need anything.”

John bent and kissed me gently. “You don’t have to do that, you know—act like you deserve less than you do. I’m marrying you, and that means that everything here is yours, too. The house, the land, and everything else—they’re ours now. I know Kimmy agrees.”

“But—” I started, but he shook his head firmly.

“You’re not asking me for anything,” he continued. “I’m sharing it with you because I want to, and because you deserve to have a good life as much as anyone else here. I’m not going to let my girl go without. Especially not because she thinks she doesn’t deserve it.”

I’m not going to cry , I told myself firmly as I swallowed hard.

He’d touched the heart of what I’d struggled with for so long, being the less-favoured child.

I’d so often been given less, treated less, loved less.

And some part of me always believed it was because there was something wrong with me.

Something unknown and evil had touched me as an infant, rotted me to my core, and that was why my mother could never love me the way she did my sister, and why I couldn’t hold onto anything good.

Even now, that belief remained, marked indelibly on my soul as a fundamental part of me.

That belief had caused me to accept my lot in the compound as it was: marrying a man I didn’t love, working a job I didn’t choose, living in a home that wasn’t really mine.

It was why I didn’t know how to react to the kind of freedom I had once I ended up in the Wasteland.

I’d never thought I deserved any better than whatever I got.

But John knew me, and he healed old, broken parts of me that I’d forgotten were even still there. I couldn’t help but envelop him in an embrace, burying my face in his shoulder.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

John stroked my hair gently as Ghost nickered at us from her stall.

“See, even Ghost agrees,” he teased, and I couldn’t suppress a chuckle. “You ready for the official tour?”

I pulled back, smiling widely as I hooked my arm through his.

“Show me the way.”

As we walked toward the house, John pointed out a couple more of the smaller buildings, including a greenhouse and a woodshed. Every roof was covered with solar panels, which was connected to a main power supply in the utility shed. That was where the new PNCs had been installed.

“We got the power back on yesterday,” John said, guiding me past the barren woodshed. “The water system works, but it needs maintenance. We’ll get that done in the next few days.”

We stopped in front of the farmhouse, and I stared up at its beautiful, imposing figure.

Back in the compound, I’d lived in a small, serviceable townhome—the kind assigned to most of the younger, lower-ranking residents.

It had been fine for just two people…but the farmhouse was nearly triple the size.

“You’re looking at the home of generations of Madigans,” John said proudly. “My great, great uncle lived here before my grandparents moved back from Ireland in the ’30s.”

John took my hand and led me up the steps of the big wrap-around porch to the faded red front door .

“Would you guys sit out here a lot?” I asked, imagining some evening when we might sit and stargaze together.

“More on the back porch,” John answered. “There's more room and it's screened in.”

He led me through the door and into the foyer.

“Wow,” I said, my eyes widening.

The ceiling was high, probably twenty feet, and featured a large, old-fashioned chandelier.

The walls were painted an off-white, and a wood floor of rich mahogany flowed from the foyer down a long hallway that ended in a set of French doors.

A wooden staircase stood off to the left, leading up to a second floor landing enclosed with dark wood railings.

A small wooden bench stood by the door, next to a closet with white doors.

It was grander than I’d dared to imagine. I turned to John.

“I didn’t picture this,” I said, looking up at the chandelier again. “How big is this place?”

“Six bedrooms,” he answered, with more nonchalance than I thought that announcement deserved. “Five bathrooms. Like I said, it’s been in the family forever. Generations have lived here, often under one roof.”