Gemotions

It was a cold, blustery day when the woman from the end of the block, Mrs. Davies, knocked on my door. Her face was pale, and her eyes were red-rimmed.

“My daughter,” she began, her voice cracking. “She… she’s going through a very hard time.”

I thought of my own daughter. A coldness settled in my stomach. I knew what it was like.

She clutched a small, seed packet in her hand, the paper crinkling in her grasp. “She loves to garden. It was her happy place." She paused, her voice shaking. "But the yard…"

She trailed off, her gaze wandering towards the barren expanse of her backyard. She could barely stand in the wind.

“Would you consider… letting her use a small part of your garden?” she finally asked, her voice barely audible.

I looked at my own garden, the vibrant colors and flourishing plants. I thought of the joy a garden could bring.

“Of course,” I said, my voice firm. "Come on in. We’ll find the perfect spot."