Brittle Nails and a Disputed Greenhouse in Autumn

accounts.”

“I am not signing my life over to your brother’s legal team,” I said, leaving the pen where it lay on the wicker.

I walked out to the greenhouse office, the cool evening air doing nothing to clear the fog in my head.

Sarah was already there, sitting at the small metal desk with the weekly ledger open under the yellow light of the desk lamp.continue reading …