The Broken Neighbor at Sunset
My pregnant neighbor from two houses down showed up on our porch just after sunset. One hand clutched the railing for balance, the other rested protectively on her swollen belly. Her face was red and swollen from crying, her eyes glassy and unfocused, like she’d been wandering for hours without knowing where she was going.
The moment I opened the door, she completely fell apart. “I’m so sorry,” she sobbed. “I didn’t know where else to go.”
I recognized her right away. We’d never been close—just polite smiles in passing, the occasional nod. She was quiet and kept to herself. I had no idea what had happened yet, but it was obvious something in her life had just shattered. I gently guided her to the porch bench and wrapped my arms around her. She shook in my embrace, the kind of trembling that comes when someone has been holding it together for too long and finally collapses. She smelled faintly of rain and soap.
