The town council chamber was colder than Sera remembered. The lights buzzed faintly, casting sterile beams onto polished oak tables. The mayor sat at the center, flanked by council members whose eyes scanned papers, laptops, and the crowd gathered like curious vultures circling potential prey.
Sera stood at the back, her heart thundering in her chest as she watched the townspeople trickle in. Lina squeezed her hand, grounding her. Mira leaned against the wall, arms crossed and gaze sharp as a blade.
They had prepared. She had rehearsed. But still, the weight of what she was about to do felt suffocating.
"Next on the docket," the mayor announced, "the matter of the greenhouse property on Wisteria Lane."
A murmur ran through the room.
Sera stepped forward.
"I'd like to speak on that."
The mayor arched an eyebrow. "You're… Sera Wynn?"
"I am."
"You have five minutes."
Sera took the podium, hands gripping the edge, voice quivering at first but quickly hardening.
"I'm here to speak not just as Celeste Wynn's niece, but as a witness to the impact she had on this town—a truth many of you have conveniently forgotten."
She clicked a button. The screen behind her lit up with the title slide: The Living Legacy: The Truth Beneath the Garden.
The next few minutes were a blur. Voices. Faces. Names. Stories. Photos. Letters. Sera's voice rising with every testimony she shared, every truth she brought to light. Mira's archival records. Lina's visuals. The blue orchid blooming in the corner of the greenhouse.
She ended on a photo of Celeste holding a young girl's hand in the garden.
"My aunt didn't just grow plants. She grew hope. And if you bulldoze that greenhouse, you're not just destroying a structure—you're killing a legacy that saved lives."
Silence.
Then a few claps. Then more. Applause swelled like a storm breaking open.
But the mayor's face remained neutral.
"Thank you, Ms. Wynn. We'll deliberate and reconvene with a decision by week's end."
Disappointment needled her ribs. There was no reaction. No promise. Just polite applause and bureaucratic smiles.
That night, Sera sat on the steps of the greenhouse, chin on her knees, the applause still echoing in her ears, hollow now.
"They didn't believe me," she whispered.
Lina sat beside her. "They heard you. That's what matters."
"No. It's not enough. Not this time."
Lina took her hand. "Then we don't stop."
Behind them, a light flickered on. Mira stood in the greenhouse doorway, holding a piece of paper.
"They've issued a temporary stay order," she said breathlessly. "No demolition until the final decision. Your presentation bought us time."
Sera stood. "How much time?"
"Three days."
Three days.
It wasn't salvation. But it was a chance.
They spent those days pushing harder—posting on local forums, holding impromptu tours of the greenhouse, handing out fliers at coffee shops and bookstores. Every evening, women who once found refuge under Celeste's roof came to speak.
Each story was another thread in the tapestry.
On the second night, a girl named June, barely twenty, arrived at the gate, eyes wide and red-rimmed.
"I heard you on the radio," she said. "I need help. Please."
Sera didn't hesitate. She opened the gate and let her in.
And just like that, the greenhouse bloomed again.
Not just with color—but with purpose.
On the third day, Sera received an anonymous envelope. No return address.
Inside: photos of men in suits talking to contractors, cash changing hands, a signed statement from a council member—evidence of corruption.
Her breath caught.
She handed it to Mira. "Can we use this?"
Mira's smile was feral. "Oh, we're going to bury them with this."
The final hearing would be more than a defense. It would be a reckoning.