He glanced up at his grand house on the hill.

“So I built that place up there,” he said softly.

“Every morning, I stepped out onto my upper deck with my coffee and looked down at your garden rows.

All I could see was that old trailer on County Road 9, my mother working on her knees in the dirt, and our empty kitchen cupboards.

I hated looking at it because it reminded me of everything I tried so hard to escape.

Yet my own mother was coming here every single week to eat from the very garden I tried to destroy.”