Chapter 10 - The Garden at Middlebury
One year later. May 2027.
The gardens behind the Middlebury farmhouse were in full, glorious bloom. Tall blue delphiniums, pale yellow daffodils, and rows of fragrant white peonies lined the brick pathway leading to the old wooden barn.
A small wooden playpen sat under the shade of an old apple tree.
Inside the playpen, fourteen-month-old Nell Bennett stood on her sturdy little legs, clutching the top rail with both hands. She wore a yellow sunhat and a tiny denim jumper, bouncing up and down as she laughed at a brown rabbit hopping through the tall grass twenty feet away.
“Look, Nell! Look at the bunny!”
Adam was sitting on the grass beside the playpen, holding a wooden toy train. He was wearing an old flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, his skin tanned not from a luxury beach resort, but from spending hours working in the yard during his bi-weekly visits to Vermont.
He had resigned from his corporate firm six months prior, opening a small, boutique architectural consulting practice that allowed him to control his own hours. He spent four days a week in Pittsburgh working on affordable housing developments, and three days every week in Vermont, staying at a small bed-and-breakfast down the road from the farm.
Nell turned her head, saw her father, and let out a bright, shrieking laugh.
“Da-da!” she squealed, reaching her tiny hands out over the railing toward him.
Adam’s face lit up with a warm, radiant smile that reached all the way to his eyes. He stood up, reached into the playpen, and effortlessly lifted his daughter into his arms, tossing her gently into the air before catching her against his chest. She giggled hysterically, burying her face into his neck.
From the kitchen porch, Marina stood watching them.
She held two glass mugs of lemonade. She had cut her hair into a stylish, shoulder-length bob, and she looked vibrant, strong, and completely at peace.
She walked down the brick path toward the apple tree.
“She’s supposed to be taking her afternoon nap, you know,” Marina said, a soft, teasing smile gracing her lips as she handed Adam a mug of lemonade.
“She was negotiating,” Adam grinned, setting Nell gently onto a soft blanket on the grass. “She offered me three extra giggles in exchange for fifteen minutes of outdoor time. I couldn't turn down those terms.”
Marina laughed softly—a genuine, warm sound that no longer carried any trace of the pain from the past.
They sat together on the wooden bench beneath the apple tree while Nell played with her wooden train on the blanket at their feet.
They were no longer husband and wife. Their divorce had been finalized six months ago, cleanly and amicably. They were two separate people bound together by a shared responsibility and a profound, quiet respect forged through the fire of a devastating crisis.
Adam looked across the yard toward the small flowerbed beside the porch.
Growing along the white wooden fence were several tall, healthy rosebushes, their stems thick and green, covered in tight pink and white buds that were just beginning to open in the spring warmth.
Adam had planted them himself late last autumn, bringing the soil from Pittsburgh and working the earth for three days until the roots took hold.
He looked down at his daughter, who was happily rolling the wooden train across his boot, then up at Marina, who was watching the sunset paint the Green Mountains in shades of gold and purple.
He had brought roses once before—wrapped in thick cream paper, bought with guilt at an airport terminal, expecting them to repair a broken life.
May you like
These new roses had no receipts. They had required digging through hard dirt, cutting away dead branches, watering through storms, and waiting patiently through a long, bitter winter for something real to bloom.
Adam reached down, picked up his daughter, and held her close against his heart as the evening light settled over the farm, peaceful, whole, and finally home.
