They learned the neighborhood rhythms: which families biked on weekends, which kids rang the bell selling cookies, and which retirees held court on their porches every evening. Everything about the place felt stable and dependable—an anchor they didn’t realize they’d needed so badly, especially when they realized they could not have kids.
The backyard, once a blank slate, became an extension of their lives. Garden stakes multiplied, the shed received a fresh coat of paint, and evenings often ended with them sipping wine on the patio. The only thing that never blended in was the silent lump near the shed, something their dog, Jasper, would always avoid