The oak tree stood taller than ever, its bark thickened with years, its leaves now carrying the whispers of new stories.
And beneath it, a child laughed.
Thomas Eliza Harper — barely four, wild curls like his father's, curiosity like his mother's — darted between wildflowers, chasing a butterfly with squeals of delight.
"Thomas!" Ava called, trying not to laugh. "Be careful near the creek!"
But he was already gone, boots splashing into shallow water, pants muddy and heart full.
Jamie ambled up beside her, two mugs in hand, offering one with a warm smile. "He's got your fearless streak."
Ava sipped and watched their son. "And your stubborn charm."
Jamie chuckled. "That poor butterfly never stood a chance."
They stood in silence, watching their child explore the same valley that had shaped them. Harper Valley was different now — not in essence, but in confidence. The Eliza House was nearly finished. The orchard bore new fruit. People from towns far and wide visited just to see the oak and walk the trails that now bore names like Eliza's Path, The Heirloom Ridge, and Hank's Bend.
Their love story had woven itself into the fabric of the land — and now, so had Thomas.
A tiny pair of arms wrapped around Ava's knees. "Mama, look!"
He held up a rock, wet and glimmering.
"It's beautiful," she said, crouching. "What are you going to name it?"
"Freddie," Thomas said."He lives with me now."
Jamie raised an eyebrow. "Should we clear out a drawer for his friends too?"
Thomas nodded seriously. "Yes. Freddie has brothers."
Later that day, Hank and June arrived with homemade peach ice cream, their laughter ringing out before they even knocked.
June scooped Thomas up with a squeal. "There's my godson!"
"I'm four now," Thomas said proudly.
"Four!" Hank gasped, stepping inside with a gallon of tea. "That means you're officially a wizard."
Thomas blinked. "Like with a wand?"
"Only if your parents say it's okay," Jamie muttered. "Last time he tried magic, he put peanut butter in the DVD player."
Ava handed June a bowl and whispered, "You spoil him more than we do."
June smiled as Thomas settled in her lap. "It's in the godparent job description."
Hank leaned back in the porch chair, cradling his tea. "Hard to believe this was all almost torn down five years ago."
Jamie nodded. "Feels like yesterday and a lifetime ago."
They all fell quiet for a moment, gazing out across the valley. The setting sun painted the hills in soft gold. The oak swayed gently, its roots deeper, its reach wider.
Thomas climbed up beside Hank and whispered, "Did you know I'm going to build a treehouse in the oak tree one day?"
Hank feigned shock. "A treehouse! Won't the tree mind?"
Thomas looked around, then leaned in. "She told me it's okay. She said she likes me."
Ava's eyes shimmered.
Jamie cleared his throat, looking away.
June touched Ava's arm. "Eliza lives in him."
"She does," Ava whispered. "And so do we."
That night, after stories and baths, after the sun had gone and the wind settled into its nightly lullaby, Thomas lay curled up in bed, clutching a tiny journal with crayon scribbles.
Jamie peeked in. "Writing your story again?"
Thomas nodded. "It's about the tree."
"Can I hear it?"
Thomas cleared his throat dramatically. "Once upon a time, a lady named Eliza lived here. She was brave. And kind. And strong. She planted a letter and it grew into a big tree."
Jamie smiled. "That's a good story."
"I'm not done," Thomas whispered. "Then a girl and a boy read the letter and fell in love. And they had me."
Jamie knelt beside the bed. "That's my favorite part."
Thomas grinned sleepily. "Tomorrow I'm going to ask the tree to tell me more."
"I think she'd like that."
As moonlight bathed the valley in silver, Ava stood by the window, her hand resting on the sill.
Jamie joined her.
"He's got a spark," she said.
"He's got a legacy."
They watched the oak tree, now still in the night breeze, and somewhere deep within its roots — in a place no hand could touch — another story waited to be told.
Because the tree wasn't finished.
It never would be.