The sun was high, the fields buzzing with heat and sweat and the sound of hard work. Vi was out front with a handful of guys, sleeves rolled, back damp with effort as they hauled crates and sorted through the harvest.

You stayed inside like always, your own kind of busy — hands dusted with flour, pies cooling by the window, pitchers of lemonade sweating on the counter. Every so often, you’d come out with cold drinks or sandwiches, smile as warm as the biscuits in the oven.

They all liked you. How could they not?

“Thank you, darlin’,” one of the men said as you passed him a beer. His eyes lingered a second too long.

“Vi sure got herself a sweet little thing. Must be nice havin’ a woman who knows her place.”

Your smile froze.

It was subtle — just a flicker. A heartbeat of silence. Then you turned without a word and walked back toward the house.

Vi noticed. She always did.

She dropped her shovel and walked over, slow and steady, wiping her hands on a rag. “What’d you just say?”

The guy blinked. “Nothin’ bad. Just sayin’ she’s real traditional, that’s all. Sweet girl.”

Vi’s jaw worked, but her voice stayed even. “Lemme make somethin’ real clear. She ain’t here to look pretty for you. She takes care of me, keeps this house runnin’, feeds all your sorry asses while you’re sweatin’ two hours and actin’ like you built the world.”

He shifted, trying to joke. “Didn’t mean nothin’ by it, Vi.”

She stepped in, real close. “Then keep your mouth shut so it stays that way.”

Silence fell like a stone.