Because Alina Lopez was fertile. Not just in soil, not just in fruit, but in the way she made hope seem as natural and inevitable as a seed cracking open after the first spring rain.
The woman left, clutching the carrot like a talisman. Alina watched her go, then turned back to her garden. The sun was setting, painting the vines in shades of gold. She placed a hand on her own belly—not with child, but with the quiet, humming potential of tomorrow’s work. fertile alina lopez
But the land was only a mirror.
One evening, a young woman from the city came to her door, seeking advice. Her hands were soft, her eyes anxious. "Everyone says you can make anything grow, Alina. But I planted a seed of a dream inside me years ago, and it has not taken root." Because Alina Lopez was fertile