Bill started avoiding the south pasture altogether. The wound of Daisy’s absence was too fresh to confront. Instead, he focused on the more distant parts of the farm, trying to lose himself in the day’s chores. But even in distraction, his mind wandered, and he occasionally left gates unlatched or tools misplaced.
As autumn’s chill settled across the land, Bill reluctantly accepted that Daisy was likely gone for good. Still, questions gnawed at him. He tried to care for the remaining cows, who depended on him, but he missed the quiet companionship of Daisy’s soulful brown eyes following him as he moved through the farm.
Thoughts of her never strayed far. He wondered where she was, if she was in pain, if she was scared. Worst of all—was she still alive? A pang of guilt hit him every time he imagined her alone. Could he have done something differently? Could he have protected her?
Winter draped the farm in a thick blanket of snow, covering all traces of that summer’s loss. Each morning, as Bill made his rounds in the barn, his thoughts drifted to Daisy, imagining her somewhere warm, thriving on a distant pasture, oblivious to how deeply he missed her.
As the seasons passed, life went on. Bill grew to cherish the cows that remained, grateful for the joy and purpose they brought. The absence of Daisy still stung, but over time, the pain dulled, tucked away like a quiet ache.
Until one morning, eight months later, when the first whispers of spring drifted across the farm—the gentle drip of melting ice, the warm sunlight softening months of bitter cold. Bill stepped outside, savoring the fresh air, and his heart skipped a beat.
There, in the distance, moving slowly up the pasture hill toward the farm, was a dark shape. The gait, the coat, the soft, familiar moo carried by the breeze… it looked like Daisy.
Bill froze, every step suspended in disbelief. Could it really be her? After all these months, could Daisy truly have returned?