Page 201 of When Love Takes Root

Self Ridge Botanical Park sat on the south side of town, tucked behind old, brick businesses and flowering hedges. Dr. Adeline Freeman, a Black horticulturist with silver locs and a smile full of legacy, had founded it years ago. Her portrait hung near the entrance beneath a scripture painted in gold along the wall.

They shall be called trees of righteousness, the planting of the Lord, that He might be glorified.

Isaiah 61:3.

I read it once, then again, and my chest began to ache before I understood why.

The garden lived in every direction. Hibiscus bloomed red and gold along the walkway. Crepe myrtles lifted pink blossoms toward the sky. Rosemary grew near the benches, fragrant beneath the heat, and magnolia trees stood wide and patient, holding their sweetness like testimony. Skye’s hand slipped into mine as we walked, and Zuri moved close to my other side, her shoulder brushing my arm every few steps. Maya held her sketchbook against her chest instead of drawing, and Kayden walked with his hands buried in his hoodie pocket, his eyes moving over everything like he didn’t trust beauty that arrived without warning.

Josiah walked beside us, calm but not casual. He wasn’t performing. He wasn’t trying to impress my children. His face carried the gravity of a man who’d prayed before he planned, and every few steps, his eyes found mine like he was making sure I could still breathe.

I could.

Barely.

The Root & Remembrance Garden sat behind a wrought-iron gate wrapped in jasmine. A small sign explained that families could adopt trees in honor of loved ones, creating a living memorial that would be watered, tended, and protected through every season.

Skye leaned forward and read slowly. “Living memorial.”

Maya whispered, “That’s beautiful.”

Her voice was so soft I barely heard it, but I saw the way her fingers tightened around her notebook, pressing the cover against her heart.

Josiah stopped near a young live oak planted beside a curved stone bench. Its leaves were glossy and deep green, its trunk still slender but strong enough to promise time. Fresh mulch circled its base. Small white flowers had been planted around it, their petals open to the sun.

Beside the tree sat a polished black stone.

My steps faltered.

JAMAL COLEMAN

A husband. A father. A covering.

A love still growing.

Rooted in love. Remembered in every season.

For a moment, the entire garden lost sound.

No birds.

No wind.

No children breathing beside me.

Just Jamal’s name in stone and a tree alive above it.

My hand flew to my mouth. The purse strap slid from my shoulder to the bend of my elbow, but I couldn’t lift my arm to fix it. My knees softened, my breath thinned, and the world blurred until all I could see was my husband’s name carved into something permanent while something living stretched above it.

“Mama?” Maya asked.

I couldn’t answer.

JJ moved first. He stepped toward the stone like his legs had forgotten how old he was. His fingers hovered over his father’s name for a long second, trembling before they touched the engraving. The moment his skin met the stone, his shoulders caved. He bowed his head, one hand braced against the memorial, the other covering his eyes as his breath broke hard and silent.

Kayden made a sound I’d never heard from him before.

It wasn’t a sob at first. It was smaller. Younger. His hand came up to his chest, gripping his hoodie as if something underneath it had split open. His mouth parted, but no words came out, and when he took a step back, JJ reached behind him without turning and caught his sleeve.