The next day, as I dragged out a ladder to repaint my trim, Harold appeared… with a paint can and an apology. He confessed he’d gone too far, and together we painted, talked, and even laughed. He opened up about losing his wife; I shared my post-divorce need for comfort—like my gnomes.

As the sun set, Harold helped me return the original gnome to its spot by the roses. “Dinner sometime?” he asked. I smiled. “Only if you leave the smoke bombs at home.” Sometimes, the smallest things—like a garden gnome—can lead to the biggest changes.