“And we’d give it all, if we had it,” the farmer said, his voice straining from his lack of breath, his figure cast in shadow.
“I know, but-”
His voice shook. “You don’t understand what we’re going through.”
She fixed her gaze on the dust that caked her boots, wishing she didn’t have to do this either. She hated herself for even standing out here in the first place, her hand out like a greedy aristocrat, waiting for her due.
“I know exactly what you’re going through,” she whispered.
Thank you to my patrons:
Heather, Tamar, Jennifer, Val, Naomi.