Gemotions

The sweat trickled down my forehead, but I didn't stop. Pulling weeds from the rose bed was a physical challenge I relished. The sun beat down, and with each tug, the meticulously cultivated space around me felt like a testament to my will.

A voice, small and uncertain, cut through the quiet. "Mr. Evans?" It was the new family, a young woman with a tentative smile. "We were hoping... would you perhaps let us plant a few herbs? Just a small patch?"

I straightened up slowly, wiping my brow with the back of my hand. "Of course," I said, my tone even. "The area by the fence, where the soil is rich, would be ideal." I was used to making decisions, and I knew what was best for everyone involved.