Anchor

The wind slammed the screen porch door shut behind her and the woman made her way down the patio's stairs and onto warm concrete. She marched with bare feet onto the yard and her toes curled as they hit the freshly cut grass; it's aroma met her nose. Adara drew in a shuttered breath as the gustily, summer wind whipped her hair across her face. She stood alone for what seemed like hours.

“Adara,” a man's voice called from behind her. It sounded distant. He was still in the house.

“I'm outside, George,” she called out in reply, not moving in the slightest from her spot on the grass.

“I got your owl,” George huffed beside her. He sounded out of breath, like he'd ran home. “What's the matter?”

Adara placed a shaking hand on her stomach and slowly turned to face her husband. His eyes filled with urgency to hear what his wife had to say. It wasn't often that she owled him to come him early.

“George,” she spoke, though her words came out shaken and broken. Tears stung her eyes and she felt as if she was going to be sick before she could finish her sentence. "We lost the baby."