envelope in a sewing drawer, and a woman everyone mistook for harmless because she had learned to speak softly.
The bruise on my ribs faded by New Year’s Day.
The bruise in my heart took longer.
Still, on the first morning of spring, Lily and I planted lavender along the walkway. The soil was cold. The sky was pale. Owen arrived halfway through with coffee and a shovel, waiting at the gate until I nodded him in.
Lily laughed when he got mud on his shoes.
For a moment, the sound rose clean and bright across the yard.
I stood with my hands in the dirt, the house behind me, my granddaughter beside me, my son learning patience at the edge of the garden.
And I thought of Vanessa’s hands pushing me into that courthouse wall, certain she had found my weakness.
She had not.
She had only reminded me where my strength had been waiting.
