Marian was sitting on the porch steps, looking entirely defeated and exhausted 🪑. His back was stiff, his hands were blistered, and he looked ten years older than when I had left. He looked up at me as I walked through the gate, holding a cool glass of lemonade for myself.
“She didn’t come to help once, Elena,” he said softly, his voice cracking with emotion 💔. “I asked her to come over on Saturday to help clear the rocks, and she said she had a doctor’s appointment. Then she asked if I was going to plant her favorite sweet peppers too.”…
I sat down next to him on the porch, taking a slow sip of my drink 🍋. “Generosity is easy when someone else is paying the price for it, Marian. You were being generous with my time, my health, and my body, not yours.”
He lowered his head into his rough hands, remaining silent for a long time 🤐. The reality of how he had let his family exploit me for seven long years finally seemed to sink into his mind. He looked at the neglected garden, then at the beautiful flower patches that had miraculously survived his half-hearted tilling attempt.
