At last, he gave a curt nod and walked away, the futility pressing on his shoulders like weight. Arthur walked back across his lawn slowly, each step dragging heavier than the last. The bottle still hung in his hand, cold and damp, though he had almost forgotten he was holding it.
Their words replayed in his head, sharper with every echo: Don’t come over here blaming us. Maybe it was kids. It wasn’t just denial. It was dismissal. They hadn’t looked at him as a neighbor, or even a man deserving of respect, but as an old nuisance to brush aside.