A year later, my studio held an anniversary exhibition.In the rebuilt greenhouse were Mom's flower catalogs, miniatures of my work, and the concepts planned for the new year.Even the broken camellia plant was blooming, its new branches spreading diagonally while the snapped edges remained out in the open, never concealed.The gardener said it would look different, but would still gain a new tree crown.I brushed my fingers over the snapped edge, feeling for the first time that it wasn't all that scary. There were just three little flowers so far, but that delighted me more than any other flower.Mom's old friend was almost crying in front of it. "She would definitely be proud of you if she was still here with us."I looked up at the sun through the glass roof, replying quietly, "She will see it."Wilma was busy mingling with guests after the exhibition was over.When a journalist asked when our wedding was, she turned to me, asking permission instead of announcing it right aw
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