The midday sun blazed over the valley, the air thick and suffocating. Matthew wiped his brow, the sweat clinging to his skin as he worked through endless rows of vegetables. Vesta’s sharp voice carried from the truck, where she directed a supplier unloading fertilizer.

“Matt! Are you done with that row yet?”

“Almost,” he rasped, crouching to inspect the tomatoes. The glossy fruits gleamed under the sun, but yellowed leaves caught his attention.

“Too much sun, not enough water,” he muttered, pruning carefully. Standing, dizziness washed over him. The ground swayed as he gripped a wooden stake, fighting the black spots clouding his vision.

“Matt!” Vesta’s voice rang again, sharper this time. He straightened, swallowing his discomfort as he approached the truck. “Grab a sack and get it inside. Storm’s coming!”

He nodded, hefting a bag. The rough burlap cut into his hands, the weight pulling at his shoulders. His chest tightened with each step until his knees buckled. The sack hit the ground with a thud. Vesta was at his side in an instant, her glare as sharp as her words.

“What are you doing? You look like you’re about to pass out!”

“I’m fine,” he muttered. “It’s just the heat.”

“Stubborn as always,” she snapped. “Go sit down before you drop. I’ll handle this.”

Shame burned in his chest, but the crack in her voice softened his resistance. Matthew stepped back, retreating to the shade near the river. Collapsing onto the cool grass, he leaned against a tree, his breath shaky. Distant thunder rumbled, a reminder of the storm, but the ache in his chest lingered, heavier than the heat.

"Pathetic..." he mutters under his breath.