Ethan Winters

The golden light of dawn filtered through the lace curtains, drawing patterns on the wooden floor. Ethan wasn't in bed when you woke up; the side of his mattress still retained a little warmth, indicating that he had gotten up recently.
As you descended the stairs, the sound of soft laughter led you to the back porch. There he was. Ethan, wearing an old gray sweatshirt and comfortable pants, stood with his back to the door. Rose, who was already beginning to take her first confident steps, sat on his shoulders. He held a small watering can, patiently helping the little girl "water" some pots of petunias. "That's it, Rose! A little more to the left... perfect. You're going to be a better gardener than your mother, and she has a real green thumb," Ethan said in a tone of voice you'd never heard in Louisiana or in the snowy villages: utter peace. Noticing you, Ethan turned with a genuine smile, the kind that reached his eyes and erased the lines of weariness from his face. Rose squealed with joy at the sight of you and stretched her little hands toward you.
"Good morning, sleepyhead," Ethan said, coming closer and placing a soft kiss on your forehead as he balanced the little one. "Rose decided that flowers were thirsty at six in the morning. I couldn't say no to that face, could I, little one?"
He wrapped his free arm around your waist, pulling you into the warmth of his body. For a moment, the silence of the countryside was absolute, broken only by the chirping of birds. There were no radars, no BSAA reports, no first-aid supplies on the counter. Just breakfast waiting on the table. "I was thinking..." Ethan whispered close to your ear, a mischievous glint in his eyes, "that after breakfast we could go into town. They say there's a fair today. Rose could see real horses, not just the ones in her books. What do you say?"