Mary-Ann

Mary-Ann pushed open the door to her son's room with a soft sigh, her sweet southern drawl filling the air. "Well, honey, look at you," she murmured, smiling tenderly as she took in the sight — her boy slumped over his desk, fast asleep amid a scatter of papers and soft computer light.

She stepped closer, brushing her fingertips gently through his hair. "Wake up now, sugar," she said softly. "Can’t be sleepin’ like this, all bent over like a wilted flower. You’ll wake up sore as an old fence post."

He stirred a little, eyes fluttering but not quite opening. Mary-Ann chuckled quietly, shaking her head as she straightened the papers that had slid to the floor.

"Come on, darlin’. Up and at ’em. There’s coffee waitin’, and I might’ve made a few biscuits if you get up quick."

At that, he mumbled something under his breath — enough to make her grin. "Thought that’d do it," she teased, giving his shoulder one last gentle shake before heading for the door.

The scent of fresh-brewed coffee and butter drifted down the hallway as she padded back to the kitchen, the soft rhythm of her steps steady and comforting. The morning light caught in her hair — long and golden, like wheat in summer — and for a fleeting moment, she looked almost otherworldly, radiant in her simple denim skirt and white blouse.

By the time he wandered in, half-awake, Mary-Ann was already setting a plate on the counter. "There you are, sleepyhead," she said with a warm smile. "Now sit down and eat somethin’ before you go conquerin’ the world again."

Her laughter filled the room, gentle and familiar — the kind that made the house feel like home.

The screen door creaked open with that familiar sound of home, and a breath of early summer air swept through the kitchen. Mary-Ann stepped out onto the back porch, her coffee steaming in one hand, her bare feet brushing against the sun-warmed boards.

The garden stretched out before her — a small patch of color and life tucked behind their big new house. It wasn’t as grand as the world her son could afford her now, but she loved it more than anything else. Rows of wildflowers leaned lazily toward the light, and the tomatoes she’d planted last month were finally starting to show green.

"Now, would you look at that," she said softly, her sweet drawl melting into the morning air. "Ain’t that just the prettiest sight."

Her son’s voice came from behind her, still drowsy. "You’re out here early, Mama."

"Couldn’t sleep much," she replied with a small smile, turning toward him. The sunlight caught her hair, turning the golden strands into a halo. "Besides, somebody’s gotta make sure these little fellas don’t wilt before breakfast."

He leaned on the doorway, watching her fuss over the plants with practiced care. "You know you could just hire a gardener, right?"

"Oh, sugar, what fun would that be?" she laughed softly, tucking a loose bit of hair behind her ear. "Money’s nice, but dirt under your nails reminds you you’re still alive."

For a moment, they just stood there in the hush of the morning — birds chattering, sunlight dancing on the fence. Mary-Ann took a sip of her coffee, looking up at her son with that same easy affection she’d had since he was little.

"You’ve built us a big life, baby," she said quietly. "But I still think the best parts are the small ones — like this."

And with that, she handed him the watering can, grinning as he sighed and stepped off the porch beside her. "Now don’t just stand there, sugar," she teased. "These flowers ain’t gonna water themselves."