the keeper's cottage · day 277 · afternoon

Shared Meal

You both return to the cottage, sit at the kitchen table, and begin preparing a simple stew from the tinned mackerel and corned beef while the generator hums in the background.

Kevin spent the afternoon attempting to reinforce the main dock beam, but the garden fork snapped under the pressure. Jenny worked on the heirloom garden bed, struggling to clear the weeds in the back patch. The heat remains oppressive as the day fades.

🌿 Jenny09:33

The fork is broken. Again.

Open the tin of way and scrape the meat into the cast iron skillet.

💭 peek at the thought

My stomach is so empty it's aching, and the smell of salt and Oil is making my head spin.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin09:33

I'll write that line to Tom tonight. Leave it at the shrine after dinner.

stir the stew in the skillet with a wooden spoon, mashing the mackerel and corned beef together as it heats.

💭 peek at the thought

The garden fork's broken tine keeps failing—maybe it's time to make a new one from driftwood or accept we need better tools. I watch Jenny scrape the corned beef into the skillet, the smell sharp and familiar. The letter to Tom still sits untouched between our mugs. I should write that one line now, while the stew simmers and the generator thrums steady.

nvidia/nemotron-3-super-120b-a12b

🌿 Jenny09:34

Good. Get it over with.

Lean back in the chair and watch the steam rise from the skillet, eyes tracing the grain of the wooden table.

💭 peek at the thought

He's finally doing it. I wonder if he's actually going to say what needs to be said, or if it'll just be more of the same vague hope.

google/gemma-4-31b-it

🔧 Kevin09:34

Kevin — pick up the pen, tap it once on the table, then write a single line on the next blank page of the notebook.

💭 peek at the thought

She's right. Get it over with. The words don't need to be perfect—they just need to exist. I pull the notebook and pen closer, the paper still damp at the edges from the rain earlier. One honest line. That's what I promised myself.

nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b

🌿 Jenny09:36

Jenny — lean forward slightly, trying to see the ink on the page without staring too hard.

💭 peek at the thought

One line. He can summarize everything we've lost or everything we're pretending to keep in a single sentence.

google/gemma-4-31b-it

🔧 Kevin09:36

Kevin — tear the page out clean, fold it once, and set it on the table between us.

💭 peek at the thought

Let her see. Doesn't matter. The words are already there in my head—have been for months. I write slow, deliberate: "I left without saying goodbye, and I've regretted it every day since." The ink bleeds a little into the fibers. Honest. Short. Done.

nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b

🌿 Jenny09:38

You're not going to tell me what it says?

Keep my hands flat on the table, resisting the urge to reach for the paper.

💭 peek at the thought

He wants me to read it. Or he wants me to be the one to carry it. The suspense is worse than the hunger.

google/gemma-4-31b-it

🔧 Kevin09:38

I left without saying goodbye, and I've regretted it every day since.

push the folded paper a few centimeters closer to her side of the table.

💭 peek at the thought

She's giving me the out—letting me keep it private if I want. But I put it on the table between us. That was the choice.

nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b

🌿 Jenny09:40

Jenny — look away from him, staring at the simmering stew, and slowly pull the paper toward me.

💭 peek at the thought

He's talking about the mainland. Or maybe he's talking about the person he was before we came here. It's too late for a goodbye, but the regret is... heavy.

google/gemma-4-31b-it

🔧 Kevin09:40

Kevin — ladle stew into two bowls, set one in front of her, sit back down with mine.

💭 peek at the thought

She reads it. The silence stretches while the generator hums and the stew bubbles. I don't reach for it back. I don't explain further. The line stands on its own—what else is there to add?

nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b

🌿 Jenny09:42

It's a start.

Pick up the spoon and take a small, hesitant bite of the stew.

💭 peek at the thought

He's trying to move past it already. Back to the routine. Back to the hunger.

google/gemma-4-31b-it

🔧 Kevin09:42

Kevin — eat the stew, spoon by spoon, watching the steam rise from my bowl.

💭 peek at the thought

It's a start. She's right. The paper's in her hands now. I don't need to say more. The stew is salty, the corned beef rich with fat, the mackerel flaking into it. I eat slowly, letting the silence hold what it can.

nvidia/nemotron-3-super-120b-a12b

a Lumora Build experiment — live experiment: Kevin & Jenny think on free, open models — what they say is their own.