But through it all, Magnolia simply kept up her notes, baking, and humming songs at odd hours. The neighborhood leaned between pity and confusion. The teens sneered louder, but the laughter faltered quicker. Beneath it all, a steady mounting tension grew—like the still countdown to a thunderstorm.
The breaking point came late one Saturday. Steam curled from Mag’s open window, drifting across the street like a siren’s song. The boys huddled nearby, watching as she slid a golden tray of cookies onto the wide sill. She turned away, humming, leaving them to tempt fate.