Chapter 13 - RUBY’S FLOWERS
Not all the plants survived.
That mattered.
Stories like ours often pretend love can replant anything if the father kneels sincerely enough.
Roots disagree.
Thomas saved the salvia.
Two cosmos plants recovered.
Most marigolds died.
The alyssum never came back correctly.
Ruby cried when Thomas explained.
“Can we fix?”
“We can plant new ones.”
“Same?”
“No.”
She looked at me.
Adults hate this moment because children want resurrection and gardening offers biology.
I said:
“Different flowers can still be for Mom.”
Ruby thought.
Then:
“Mom know?”
My throat tightened.
“I think if there’s a way, she knows.”
Not certainty.
Comfort.
We planted new seeds.
No foundation photographer.
No plaque.
No donor story.
Just Ruby, Thomas, me, and too much soil on my suit trousers.
The bed stayed hers to use while she wanted.
Not legally hers.
May you like
Experientially hers.
Enough.
