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She thought of the email she’d drafted to her boss on Friday—the one about stepping back from the overnight shift, the one she hadn’t sent. Too messy , she’d told herself. Let it sit. But like the gutter, letting it sit had only made the overflow worse. Her sleep was stained; her patience was rotting.

“Classic,” she muttered, climbing the rungs with a putty knife clenched in her teeth. unblocking gutters

As she scraped and scooped, her mind began to unclog too. She thought of the email she’d drafted to

At the time, she’d rolled her eyes. Now, standing in the mist, she laughed. But like the gutter, letting it sit had

She pulled out a soggy clump of oak leaves, and suddenly remembered her father, ten years ago, on this very ladder. “Gutters are like arguments,” he’d said, scraping alongside her. “You ignore the small blockage, and next thing you know, the whole foundation’s flooded.”