I looked down. “Six weeks, if she decides to wait that long.”

She smiled softly, a hint of nostalgia in her eyes. “I remember those days. My Walter was so nervous, he packed the hospital bag a month early.” Her hand trembled slightly as she sipped her drink.

“He sounds like a good man.”

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

I stared at the street, fighting back tears. “Nobody… not anymore. My ex, Lee, left when I told him I was pregnant. And I got the call this morning—foreclosure. I don’t know what comes next.”

She studied me carefully. “You’ve been handling all of this on your own.”

I gave a faint smile. “Looks like it. I guess I’m stubborn.”

“Stubborn is just another word for strong,” she said. “But even strong women need rest sometimes.”

Finishing the lawn felt endless. My body screamed at me, but stopping didn’t make sense. When I finally finished, I set the mower aside, wiped my hands on my shorts, and tried to ignore how my vision blurred.

Mrs. Higgins squeezed my hand, her grip surprisingly firm. “You’re a good girl, Ariel. Don’t forget that.” She looked at me intensely, as if committing my face to memory. “Don’t let the world take that from you.”

I tried to joke. “If the world wants anything from me, it’ll have to wait until I get some sleep.”

She smiled. “Go get some rest, honey.”

I waved as I made my way home, grateful for the shade. That night, I lay in bed, hand on my belly, staring at the cracks in the ceiling. For a moment, I felt lighter.

A siren woke me at dawn. Red and blue lights cut through the blinds, painting my walls with panic. For a wild second, I thought Lee had come back—or the bank had arrived to take the house.

I threw on the first cardigan I found and stepped outside. The street was chaos.

Two patrol cars, a sheriff’s SUV, neighbors gathered on their lawns, faces tight with curiosity. I tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear and stepped onto the porch, trying to appear braver than I felt.

A tall officer approached—broad-shouldered, serious, the kind of man who made you stand a little straighter.

“Are you Ariel?” he asked, his tone firm but not unkind. His eyes flicked toward the watching neighbors. “I’m Sheriff Holt. Can we step inside for a moment?”

I opened the door, my heart pounding. The living room suddenly felt too small. His radio crackled as he glanced over the family photos and the pile of unopened mail.

“Is everything okay?” I asked.

He lowered his voice. “I wish it were. Mrs. Higgins collapsed on her porch early this morning. A neighbor called it in. Paramedics arrived, but…” He trailed off.

“She didn’t make it,” I whispered, sinking onto the couch.