Chapter 12 - Roots in Common Soil
Spring returned to Cape Haven with sudden violence, sweeping away the winter frost with warm southern squalls. The garden behind their cottage burst into bloom—radishes, sweet peas, and wild lavender pushing through the dark soil.
Mark’s work at the credit union had expanded. He wasn't handling multi-million-dollar hedge portfolios anymore; instead, he was approving low-interest equipment loans for local fishermen, helping young families secure first-time mortgages, and reviewing budgets over cups of black diner coffee.
He discovered an unexpected dignity in work that had a tangible, human face. When he walked down the main street, people waved to him not because they wanted access to capital, but because he had taken the time to listen to their stories.
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Amy opened a small pottery studio in a converted shed behind the house. Her hands, once chapped from scrubbing Victoria’s heirloom silver, now shaped stoneware clay on a spinning kick-wheel. Her pieces weren't thin or delicate like the china from the dinner party; they were thick, sturdy, and meant to be held with both hands around hot tea.
One morning, as Leo chased a bumblebee through the clover, Amy watched Mark kneeling beside him, showing him how to hold an earthworm without hurting it. There were no cameras, no guests, and no audience. It was entirely real.
