AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I know who it is, but I refuse to believe it.
Margret steals the words from my mouth.
“His son.” Her voice cracks. She, too, is feeling the weight of this moment.
My own eyes start to feel heavy, and I know what’s coming.
“I’ll be right back,” I blurt out, needing space.
Without another word, I walk out and head in the opposite direction. The tears I have been trying to hold back fall regardless.
I finally stop in an enclosed garden.
The ceiling is high and made of glass. I didn’t even know this was here. The last light of the day shines in the space with three clear walls. During the full light of day, I can imagine that it’s bright and refreshing with all the greenery. A planned, repeating design to the plants turns into a sort of boxed garden I’ve seen in movies with English houses. A private oasis in the middle of a building surrounded by the city.
My tears start to dry as I take deep inhales of oxygen. It’s fresher in here. I have the plants to thank for that. The calming space relaxes me, offering me a connection after feeling unmoored after seeing Henry with his son.
That’s when I realize I’m not alone.
In the corner of a space, kneeling next to a plant, is a woman. She must hear me because she turns over her shoulder.
Then she’s walking toward me.
Her face has mud on it. Her eyes are a crisp shade of blue. She looks familiar, but I can’t place her.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I just—” I stare at a freesia nearby, unable to meet her eyes. I finally turn to her. “Have you ever wondered if everything you know about a person is wrong?”
She looks at me with sad, knowing eyes. “Yes. All the time.”
“How do you deal with that?”
“I find that gardening helps.”
“How can a garden help me figure out what I’m missing?”
Her fingers trail along the path of flowers. I follow her.
She stops at one, adjusting the stems. “Do you know that, to most people, a dandelion is just a weed? Something to be plucked and pulled from the yard and flower beds. But in the spring, when the flowers are just starting to wake from winter, the dandelion is the first bloom available for the bees.” She looks off into the distance like she can see that bee now.
“I had no idea.”
She plucks the flower she’s holding and offers it to me. It’s a dandelion. “A weed is but an unloved flower. And people are the same way until you can see around their mistakes and watch them bloom.”
A small gasp leaves my lips as the implication of her words hit me in the chest. I swallow, take the flower from her, and stare at her in astonishment. “Thank you,” I say, and I mean it.
This woman said exactly what I needed to hear at the exact moment I needed to.
Not everything is black and white.
Shades of gray make up the world.
Weeds are flowers, too.
I turn to walk away when she speaks once more. “Trent wasn’t always hateful like this, you know.”
Trent . . . ?
