lia

reckage of my former life. My legs gave out, and I crumpled onto the plush carpet, the silk threa

Blake' s deeper, contented chuckle. "This is perfect, my love," he murmured, his voice laced with an affection

unrise over the Mediterranean. "You are my anchor, Amelia," he had said, tracing patterns on my back. "My safe h

lear message: I was no longer a wife, merely a transient, an unwelcome guest. Each item I placed, each book on the shelf, felt like an admission of defeat. I unpacked my rose seeds-the rare va

finally drifted into a fitful slumber, a piercing cry ripped through the quiet house. It was one of the babies, a r

e cries were frantic, echoing through the silent mansion, far too loud, far too desperate for a simple diaper change. I heard

e not to the master suite, but towards the back of the house, towards the enclosed garden. My gar

h the garden d

y torn apart. Workers, under the supervision of Blake' s estate manager, were ripping out bushes, overturning soil, and uprooting the delicate rose pla

my own heart was being ripped from my chest. I stumbled forward, my hands o

ng pale and distraught. One of the twins was still crying fretfully in her arms

sary? This is my garden! My mother's legacy! How cou

nexplicable malaise. He identified your garden, specifically your roses, as sources of 'unharmonious energy' t

surdity of it struck me, followed by a wave of an icy, cutting despair. He was destroying th

sing in a desperate plea. "My roses are harm

ey' ve been feverish all night. He said the roses were the source of their distress, dra

t the crying baby into my arms. "Here, Amelia! See

nsified, his small body burning with fever. My own maternal instincts, long suppressed

he's trying to harm the baby!" She tripped over an overturned rose bush, fall

g me and the baby in my arms. "Amelia! What is wrong with you? Trying to hur

ed, my voice raw. "She pushed her

licious intent is clear. Continue the work!" he commanded the

me. They twisted my arms behind my back, forcing me to my knees. The rough ground scra

snapped, the roots ripped from the earth. My mother's rare roses, the last vestiges of our shared past, were s

nd numb. My mother' s legacy, gone. My children, gone. My life, now a barren wasteland. The guards held me, my body shaking, until the last rose was destr