The Woman in Kansas

🌾 The Woman in Kansas 🌾
A story of loss, loneliness, and quiet strength

Five years had passed since the night the storm took her husband.
In a small Kansas farmhouse surrounded by endless fields of wheat and the whispering wind, she lived alone.
The locals knew her as the woman with the soft smile and tired eyes, the one who worked her land from dawn until the last light faded.

Every morning, before the sun rose, she stepped out onto the porch and breathed in the cold air. The fields were still golden, still beautiful—yet without him, they felt like miles of quiet she had to walk through alone. She tended the crops the way he once taught her, remembering his voice in every furrow, every seed she placed into the earth.

By day, she was strong.
By night, she broke.

When the house grew silent and the cicadas faded, she would sit by the window with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. She’d hold the old photograph of him—his smile wide, the prairie sky behind him—and let the tears finally fall. Some nights she whispered to him, telling him about the farm, the cows, the weather… as if he might answer if she spoke softly enough.

But there was something else too—something small but stubborn that refused to die inside her.
It was the same thing that kept her planting each spring, even when winter felt endless.
Hope.
Not loud, not bright—just a faint warmth, like a candle in a long hallway.

One evening, as she finished feeding the animals, the wind picked up and swept across the fields. It felt familiar, almost like a touch. She paused, closed her eyes, and for the first time in years, she didn’t cry. Instead, she felt a strange peace, like he was telling her she wasn’t walking this life alone.

The grief never left her—that kind of love never disappears.
But she learned to carry it differently.

Now, when she looks out over the Kansas plains, the sunsets don’t hurt as much. She sees beauty again. Strength again. A future again.

And at night, instead of crying herself to sleep, she whispers:
“I’m still here. I’m still living. I’m still growing.”

Because in that quiet farmhouse, on that lonely Kansas farm, a woman who lost everything kept going—one sunrise at a time.