Brittle Nails and a Disputed Greenhouse in Autumn

at the paper, then at me, before putting his coffee down on the bench.

The delivery driver signed his name on Martha’s notepad, confirming Robert’s interference.

I kept the yellow notepad tucked under my arm as I walked back into the greenhouse office, the paper still damp from the morning mist.

Robert was already sitting in my desk chair, his heavy gold continue reading …