The Rose Garden
Maria's rose garden was a riot of color, a testament to a love that had once bloomed as vibrantly as the flowers themselves. Each bush represented a memory, a moment in time when her husband, David, had presented her with a rose. Crimson for their first date, a delicate blush pink for their engagement, sunny yellow for their wedding day. After they married, the bouquets stopped, but the roses continued, transplanted from their vases to the rich earth of her garden. She nurtured them, pruned them, whispered secrets to them as she worked, each bloom a silent reminder of a romance that had slowly, imperceptibly, faded, and finally, died.
"They're beautiful, Maria," a voice said, breaking through her reverie. It was Elara, her best friend, standing at the garden gate, a wicker basket swinging from her hand. "You've truly got a gift with roses."
Maria managed a small smile. "Thank you, Elara. They're... reminders."
Elara stepped further into the garden, her eyes scanning the different colors and varieties. She knew the story behind each bush, the unspoken narrative of Maria's relationship with David. "Reminders of happier times?" she asked gently, careful not to pry.
Maria hesitated. "Reminders of a time when… when grand gestures felt important," she finally said, her voice barely a whisper. She gestured towards a particularly vibrant deep red rose, just beginning to unfurl. "This one was for our first anniversary. He even wrote a little poem."
Elara nodded, understanding the unspoken sentiment. She knew David. He was a good man, but sometimes… oblivious. Or perhaps, not so oblivious. She remembered the whispers, the hushed conversations about David's "late nights at the office," the woman he'd introduced at a recent social gathering. A "PRO," he'd said proudly, a Public Relations Officer. Elara had later learned, from a mutual friend, the less palatable truth: the woman was a GRO, a Guest Relations Officer, from one of the nightclubs David frequented.
"He still loves you, Maria," Elara said softly, the words feeling hollow even to her own ears.
Maria sighed. "I know, Elara. But sometimes, it's not just about love. It's about… being seen. Being cherished." She plucked a fallen petal from a nearby rose and crushed it between her fingers. "He used to see me in every single bloom." A bitter laugh escaped her lips. "Now, I think he only sees… someone else." She looked out at the garden, a wave of weariness washing over her. "It doesn't matter anymore, Elara. It's over. We're getting a divorce."
Elara's heart ached for her friend. She reached out and squeezed Maria's hand. "I'm so sorry, Maria."
Maria shrugged, a single tear tracing a path through the grime on her cheek. "It's for the best, I think. This garden… it's become a graveyard of memories. I need to… to plant something new." She glanced towards the house, where a small figure was playing near the window. "And not just roses. I need to think about Lily now."
"Of course," Elara said, understanding. "What are your plans?"
Maria took a deep breath. "I'm moving back in with my parents, just for a while. It's the best option for Lily and me right now. A fresh start."
"That sounds like a good plan," Elara agreed. "Your parents will be thrilled to have you both." She looked around the garden, a hint of sadness in her eyes. "What will happen to all this?"
Maria looked at the roses, her expression unreadable. "I don't know yet," she said softly. "Maybe… maybe I'll take a few cuttings. Start a new garden, somewhere smaller. Somewhere… lighter."
A little while later, the moving van was parked in the driveway. Boxes were stacked on the porch, and the air was thick with the bittersweet scent of change. Maria knelt in the rose garden, a small trowel in her hand. Lily, her three-year-old daughter, was playing nearby, chasing butterflies amongst the rose bushes.
"Mommy, what are you doing?" Lily asked, her voice bright and curious.
Maria smiled. "I'm taking some of these roses with us, sweetheart," she said, carefully digging up a small rose bush with delicate pink blooms. "We'll plant them at Grandma and Grandpa's house, so we can have a little bit of this garden with us."
Lily giggled. "Pretty flowers!" she exclaimed, reaching out to touch a petal.
Maria gently placed the rose bush in a pot. "Yes," she whispered, more to herself than to Lily. "Pretty flowers. And… memories." She looked around the garden one last time, a mix of sadness and relief swirling within her. It was time to go. Time to plant something new.
Tessa Yusoff
21 February 2025
The Rose Garden: A Story of Loss and Connection #ShortStory #Fiction #Loss #Family #Rain #Resilience #Texting
