“It’s a hundred degrees out here.”
“It’s character-building.”
Ariel laughed despite herself. Mrs. Higgins smiled, and for just a second, the strain around her eyes softened.
“Let me finish it,” Ariel said, moving closer. “Please. I need something to do with my hands. I just got some news and I can’t just sit in there.”
Mrs. Higgins studied her — those sharp eyes taking in the mail under Ariel’s arm, the shadows beneath her eyes, the way her free hand was pressed against her side like she was holding something together.
“Trouble?” she asked quietly.
“Nothing I can’t figure out,” Ariel said. Which was a lie, but a polite one, and Mrs. Higgins seemed to understand the difference.
She let go of the mower.
What Happened in That Yard Was Small — But It Mattered
The grass was thick and uneven. The mower was old enough to have a personality, sputtering at the corners and stalling twice on a hidden root. Ariel pushed through it, wiping her face with the hem of her shirt, her center of gravity completely rearranged by the life growing inside her.
Halfway through, she had to stop.
