The oak had been dying for three years before Maya finally noticed. It stood at the edge of her grandmother’s garden, half-hidden behind the shed, its branches once thick with acorns now brittle and sparse. As a child, Maya had climbed its limbs, whispering her secrets into the ridged bark. But life had pulled her elsewhere—school, city lights, endless screens—and the tree had been left to fend for itself. On the day she returned, the air smelled of dust and wilt. Her grandmother’s house was ...

The oak had been dying for three years before Maya finally noticed. It stood at the edge of her grandmother’s garden, half-hidden behind the shed, its branches once thick with acorns now brittle and sparse. As a child, Maya had climbed its limbs, whispering her secrets into the ridged bark. But life had pulled her elsewhere—school, city lights, endless screens—and the tree had been left to fend for itself. On the day she returned, the air smelled of dust and wilt. Her grandmother’s house was ...