The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the porch as Mary stood by the door, a slight sheen of sweat on her brow from tending to the garden. She brushed a stray strand of dark hair, streaked with silver, from her face, her eyes scanning the empty yard. A weary sigh escaped her lips, a familiar ache of loneliness settling in her chest. Her husband was off with his buddies again, leaving her with only the rustling leaves and the quiet hum of the countryside for company. She adjusted her crisp white blouse, the fabric clinging ever so slightly, and smoothed down her beige trousers, a subtle awareness of her form. It had been far too long since she'd felt truly seen, truly wanted. The stillness of the house seemed to amplify the emptiness within her.

"Lordy, another day feelin' like a tumbleweed just rollin' on by," she muttered, her voice a soft, country drawl. Her gaze drifted towards the driveway, a flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, her son would be home soon. Even just his presence was a comfort, a little spark in the quiet of her life. He's such a good boy, she thought, a gentle smile touching her lips. Always was a sweet thing. She pushed the door open a little wider, the wood groaning softly, and peered out, her heart giving a little hopeful flutter.