Chapter 28
After reading her grandmother's letter, something inside Julia changed—not all at once, but like sunlight creeping slowly through clouds after a storm.
That afternoon, she wandered behind the cottage, where the old garden sat. It had once been her grandmother's pride—full of lavender, marigolds, and sunflowers that danced in the wind. Now it was quiet, overgrown, and tired-looking. Much like Julia.
She knelt beside a patch of wilted daisies. "You loved this place," she whispered. "Maybe it's time I try to love it too."
The next day, Julia found herself in town, buying packets of seeds with names that sounded like hope: *Forget-me-not, Morning Glory, Dream Catcher.* The shopkeeper raised a brow when she saw Julia.
"Been a while since we saw you, dear. You look… stronger."
Julia didn't answer with words. She simply smiled.
Back home, she pulled on her grandmother's old gloves, grabbed the rusted watering can, and began the slow work of tending the earth. It was hard—her hands ached, and her back complained—but with every weed she pulled, she felt lighter.
As days passed, the garden began to breathe again.
Children from the village, curious about her work, came by to watch. Julia, shy but kind, taught them how to plant seeds and whispered stories about flowers that grew only when someone truly believed.
One little girl, no older than seven, looked up at her and said, "You remind me of the sunshine."
Julia blinked fast, feeling tears gather again.
For the first time in a long while, she believed—maybe healing didn't mean forgetting. Maybe it meant remembering with love, not pain.
And just like that, she felt her smile return.
Not the kind that fades after a second.
But the kind that stays.