It was a small town, and everyone knew everyone else’s business. But Emma was always the quiet one, the one who stayed in the background, watching everything unfold from her little house at the edge of the village. She never expected to be the center of attention.
Her father, Arthur, had been the village blacksmith for years. He was tough, gruff, and never gave much thought to the world beyond his forge and the iron he hammered day in and day out. But what few people knew was that Arthur had a soft spot for Emma. He loved her in ways he couldn’t express — a silent love, like the quiet hum of a hammer striking an anvil.
