Chapter 14 - The Blossom in the Garden
Six months later.
Autumn had returned to Blackwood Ridge, painting the coastal pine trees in brilliant, burning shades of gold, orange, and deep red. A crisp, cool breeze swept off the bay, carrying the scent of woodsmoke and sea salt.
In the private glass greenhouse behind the Vance main house, the air was warm, humid, and filled with the rich, earthy scent of fertile soil and blooming flora. Row upon row of rare orchids, citrus trees, and vibrant tropical flowers lined the wooden tiers.
In the center of the greenhouse stood a small, potted sapling—a dwarf orange blossom tree, its dark green leaves shining under the sunlight streaming through the glass roof, small white blossoms beginning to unfold at the tips of its branches.
Maya stood beside the wooden pot, holding a tiny green watering can with both of her small hands. She was four years old now, taller, her blonde hair falling in soft, shiny waves down her back. She carefully poured a small stream of clean water around the base of the little tree, watching the soil absorb it.
Alexander knelt beside her on the brick floor, holding a small pair of pruning shears.
"Is the little tree happy now, Daddy?" Maya asked, looking up at him with her bright green eyes, her face glowing with health and innocent joy.
Alexander reached out, gently tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. He looked at the fragile white blossoms unfolding on the branches—blossoms that would soon grow into sweet, golden fruit.
"The tree is very happy, sweet pea," Alexander whispered, his voice filled with an overwhelming, protective warmth. "Because it’s planted in good soil, surrounded by people who love it."
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Maya giggled, setting her little watering can down and throwing her small arms around Alexander’s neck. Alexander scooped her into his broad chest, standing up and holding her close against his heart as they looked out through the glass walls of the greenhouse at the endless blue horizon of the ocean.
The dark shadows of the Regent Ballroom, the cold glass of juice, and the cruel woman in the red dress were now nothing more than distant, forgotten dust.
