Late summer heat settled over the garden like a heavy, golden veil. The oak tree’s leaves had deepened into rich emerald, casting wide, dappled shadows across the grass where so many important moments had unfolded. The ribbons — nearly two decades of them now — moved lazily in the occasional breeze, a living timeline of vows, milestones, struggles, and celebrations.Anya sat beneath the tree on a thick blanket, legs stretched out, watching the late afternoon light play across the scene before her. Nineteen years. Sometimes the number still startled her. Nineteen years since she had stepped into this garden carrying a child and more fear than hope. Nineteen years of choosing, breaking, repairing, and choosing again.Mae was sprawled on her stomach nearby, sketchbook open, charcoal flying across the page as she captured the way sunlight filtered through the ribbons. At twelve, she had entered what she dramatically called her “serious artist era,” though her laughter and boundless affect
Read more