დ Elara დ
It has been three weeks since I had been to the hospital to see Aidan. I had no idea if he had survived or not, and the rumors moved through Willowridge the way dust moved through sunlight. Slow. Inevitable. Everyone pretended they did not see it while it settled on their shoulders anyway. They said the project was dead. Someone’s cousin had heard it from a guy who stocked shelves. A clerk at the post office swore she saw an email. David at the Fig shook his head and said not to trust a word until the trucks stopped showing up at dawn. I wanted to believe the best version. I wanted to believe he had seen the creek pulling back from its bank. That he had stood in our fields and listened. That he had lifted his hand and said enough. I held on to that hope with both hands like it c
