Instead of announcing myself, I decided to walk around the house and come through the kitchen.
That decision changed my life.
Behind the new garage was a narrow gravel path leading toward an old wooden utility shed.
Someone had hung wet sheets on a clothesline beside it.
That was when I saw a woman carrying a plastic bucket.
At first, I didn’t recognize her.
She was painfully thin.
She wore faded sweatpants despite the Georgia heat and an oversized gray shirt that hung from her shoulders.
A scarf was wrapped around her head.
She bent down slowly, bracing one hand against the shed wall like standing upright was exhausting.
Then the bucket slipped from her fingers.
Dirty water splashed across the gravel.
The woman flinched.
And I heard my sister’s voice from an open kitchen window.
“Seriously, Naomi?”
My entire body went cold.
Kendra leaned through the window.
“Mom told you to finish those before lunch. We have people coming over.”
The woman looked up.
It was my wife.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
The sunflowers slipped from my hand.
