She was painfully thin.
She wore faded sweatpants despite the Georgia heat and an oversized gray shirt that hung from her shoulders.
A scarf was wrapped around her head.
She bent down slowly, bracing one hand against the shed wall like standing upright was exhausting.
Then the bucket slipped from her fingers.
Dirty water splashed across the gravel.
The woman flinched.
And I heard my sister’s voice from an open kitchen window.
“Seriously, Naomi?”
My entire body went cold.
Kendra leaned through the window.
“Mom told you to finish those before lunch. We have people coming over.”
The woman looked up.
It was my wife.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
The sunflowers slipped from my hand.
“Naomi?”
Her face changed instantly.
Not joy.
Not relief.
Fear.
Pure fear.
She stepped backward so quickly that her shoulder hit the shed.
Her hands flew to the scarf around her head.
“Oh my God,” she whispered.
I crossed the yard.
“Naomi, what happened?”
She shook her head.
“Caleb, you weren’t supposed to be home.”
That sentence frightened me more than anything else.
I reached toward her carefully.
She looked toward the kitchen before looking back at me.
“Please,” she whispered. “Not out here.”
Before I could answer, the back door opened.
My mother appeared.
She looked nothing like someone who had been struggling financially.
Her hair was freshly styled.
She wore gold bracelets, a cream blouse, and designer sunglasses pushed onto the top of her head.
Kendra came behind her carrying a new phone.
Mom stopped when she saw me.
For half a second, her expression wasn’t happiness.
It was panic.
Then she recovered.
“Caleb!”
She rushed toward me with her arms open.
