She didn’t run.
She didn’t cry, either.
She simply packed the car.

The mornings were slower now.

It happened on a Tuesday.

The second time, it was the library.

It wasn’t meant to rain that day.
She had checked the weather. Twice.

It began with scones.
Now it was something else.

The letter arrived on a Wednesday.

The first frost came quietly.

She hadn’t planned to visit the orchard again.

Snow came early that year.