I Mowed the Lawn for the 82-Year-Old Widow Next Door – The Next Morning, a Sheriff Woke Me up with a Request That Made My Blood Run Cold

“Thank you, Ariel. You’re a lifesaver.”

I started the mower. My feet squelched in grass and I felt dizzy, nauseous, but I kept going.

Every so often, I’d catch Mrs. Higgins watching me, a strange, thoughtful look in her eyes.

Halfway through, my breath caught. I stopped, leaned against the handle, and wiped my face. Mrs. Higgins shuffled over with a glass of lemonade, cold and sweating in the heat.

“Sit,” she ordered. “You’ll make yourself sick.”

“You’re a lifesaver.”

I sat on her porch, gulping lemonade, pulse racing. Mrs. Higgins sat beside me. She didn’t speak, just patted my knee.

After a minute, she asked, “How much longer for you?”

I glanced down. “Six weeks, if she lets me go that long.”

She smiled, a little wistful. “I remember those days. My Walter, he was so nervous, he packed the hospital bag a month early.” Her hand shook a little as she sipped her own drink.

“He sounds like a good man.”

“Oh, he was, Ariel. It’s lonely, you know, when you lose the person who remembers your stories.” She went quiet for a moment, then turned to me. “Who’s in your corner, Ariel?”

“How much longer for you?”

I stared at the street, willing myself not to cry. “Nobody… not anymore. My ex, Lee, bailed when I told him I was pregnant. And I got the call this morning, foreclosure. I don’t know what happens next.”

She studied me, searching my face. “You’ve been doing this all by yourself.”

I gave a half-smile. “Looks that way. I’m stubborn, I guess.”

“Stubborn is just another word for strong,” Mrs. Higgins said. “But even strong women need a break sometimes.”