She knelt and started pulling. The roots resisted, then gave with a wet pop. A cascade of murky water surged up, carrying debris: a child’s marble, a rusted key, and something that made her freeze—a single, perfectly preserved black button, four holes, still threaded with a loop of frayed cotton.
“Must’ve been a trick of the light, ma’am,” he said, wiping his hands.
She pried the grille loose. What stared back was not leaves.
Her grandmother’s button. From the coat she’d buried her in, twelve years ago.
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She knelt and started pulling. The roots resisted, then gave with a wet pop. A cascade of murky water surged up, carrying debris: a child’s marble, a rusted key, and something that made her freeze—a single, perfectly preserved black button, four holes, still threaded with a loop of frayed cotton.
“Must’ve been a trick of the light, ma’am,” he said, wiping his hands.
She pried the grille loose. What stared back was not leaves.
Her grandmother’s button. From the coat she’d buried her in, twelve years ago.
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