“It is dead, Lila. Nothing is bringing it back.” Steven stood above her, his shadow darkening the barren branches in front of her.

She looked up. With the sun behind him, it was like looking up to a human shape void around which the sun shone. “You don’t know that.”

“Why bother with it. Father can just plant another one.” He turned on his heel, a puff of dust rising and dirtying the side of her skirt.

Lila waited until he was a speck across the dried expanse of the meadow before she responded. “Because Momma and I planted this one.” She turned back to the bush and continued digging in compost around its base, watering it with her tears.

When the sun was at its height in the sky and sweat had washed away the tears from her face, Lila stood. Hands on her hips, she stared at the bush.

“I know you have it in you to survive. You’re like me.” She picked up her tools and trudged back to the house.

That night Lila woke up to the sound of rain and smiled before falling back asleep. And outside, across the awakening meadow, there was a sound of cracking wood and red blossoms exploded on the once skeletal sticks.