A bitter laugh escaped him before he could stop it. $8,000 suddenly sounded generous. He walked through what used to be the center row, trying to match memory to reality. He remembered being small enough that the grass once brushed his knees. He remembered sunlight filtering through thick green leaves. He remembered feeling safe.
Now the branches scratched against his flannel shirt like dry bones. “She left me this,” he muttered. Anger rose sharp and familiar. “Maybe Apex was right. Maybe the land wasn’t viable. Maybe she’d run out of money, out of hope, and out of love. Inside the house, dust coated everything in a thin, patient layer. The kitchen sink was dry.
The refrigerator door hung open. A calendar from 9 years ago still clung to the wall, curled at the corners. Caleb dropped his backpack on the floor and sat at the small wooden table. It wobbled under his weight. He tried to imagine her here alone. Winter storms rolling through. Bills stacking up, silence pressing in.
If she’d loved him, why hadn’t she come back? The thought hit harder in the emptiness of that kitchen. By nightfall, the temperature dropped fast. Desert cold replacing desert heat. Caleb lit a small camping lantern and sat on the porch steps. Staring at the dead orchard under a wide scatter of stars. He pulled out his phone and opened the missed call notification from Apex.
Tomorrow morning, he told himself he’d call. He’d take the money. He’d leave this dry, broken place behind. The wind moved through the orchard again, low and restless, like something refusing to stay buried. Caleb woke before sunrise, stiff from sleeping on the couch, and halfdecided about selling. The desert mornings were deceptively gentle.
