She was precise in everything—her cooking, her sewing, her rose pruning—but never harsh. There was a stillness to her that grounded Eli when the world got too noisy. Every morning, Eli took his rounds. He walked the border of the fields, checked on the soil, examined the young corn shoots, and paused near the chicken coop to scatter feed.
On most days, Margaret would wave at him from the garden, wearing a sunhat that had faded over decades and gloves that never seemed to wear out. Their life was a quiet one, but in that quiet lived a deep contentment.
They had no children, no modern distractions, no desire to leave the land they had built their life upon. The town had always respected that distance, too—Eli’s farm was just far enough from the main road to feel secluded, and most people in town simply forgot it was there.
But everything changed when the SilverMart opened next door. It started with flyers. Bright orange ones stuffed into mailboxes and pinned to grocery store boards. “GRAND OPENING – SILVERMART SUPERSTORE!” Eli didn’t think much of it.