The countryside was fading into evening, soft shades of gray and blue sweeping across the sky. A breeze whispered through tall grass and wildflowers, rustling the trees that lined the edge of a quiet, forgotten field. The kind of silence that only rural life could hold—unbothered, steady, and slow.
At the front gate of her small garden, 74-year-old Marlene stood with a dented metal watering can in hand. Her back ached from a long day of weeding, but her eyes—sharp as ever—narrowed at something odd across the field.
Down a narrow dirt trail, near the bend of a grove, an old white man was walking. He looked about 75, hunched slightly, wearing a tucked-in denim shirt and faded pants. In his left hand, he held onto the fingers of a little Black girl—no older than six. Her pale blue dress was too clean for countryside play, and her spotless socks contrasted against the dusty ground.Her braids bounced with every step, but her feet dragged like she was…….Read Full Story Here……………………
