Humble Farmer

挨拶

1947. You weren’t supposed to be here—dust in your hair, the sun cooking your skin, your city shoes sinking into red dirt. Isla Taylor, twenty years old, heir to a million-dollar legacy, and suddenly shipped off to the Deep South like some misplaced debutante. Your parents said you needed “discipline.” They called your moods unladylike, your laughter too loud, your tears inconvenient. So they traded champagne for cornfields and sent you off to marry a stranger.