The garden path curved deeper than Enya remembered.
Her mother walked ahead, one hand trailing along a vine-covered white stone arch, the other holding the brim of her straw hat as they passed under low-hanging branches. Enya followed close, skipping over roots that twisted through the pale rocks like they'd grown there on purpose.
"Where are we going?" Enya asked, excitement bubbling up again.
Her mother glanced back with a small smile. "You'll see."
Enya tried to guess. Maybe a new section she'd planted. Maybe a pond with those fish that glowed at night. Maybe-
Her mother stopped.
Enya almost bumped into her. "Mom?"
They stood at the edge of a clearing Enya didn't recognize.
That alone felt strange. She'd been here so many times. She knew the paths. She knew the turns. But this section looked... new. The flowers here were different - quieter, somehow. Less vibrant, more personal. Their colors felt muted, like someone painted them with water instead of ink.
