The morning sunlight spilled gently into the common room of Sunny Hills Retirement Home, brushing the polished floor with soft gold. The rays danced across the walls and touched the soft gray blankets that lay folded on the couches. The air carried the smell of oatmeal, soap, and something sweet from the kitchen. It was the kind of smell that made people relax, clean, calm, and full of comfort.
Grandma was sitting near the window, her blanket slipping off her lap as she reached for her teacup. I quickly leaned over to help her adjust it, tucking it gently around her legs.
"Thank you, dear," she said softly, patting my hand.
Her voice always had that calm strength, the kind that reminded me of home. She smiled up at me, her face lined with years of laughter and worry. I had spent the whole morning with her, brushing her hair, helping her with breakfast, and listening to her tell stories about the good old days.
Just then, the door opened and a nurse walked in carrying a neatly wrapped brown box tied with a cream ribbon. Her white shoes squeaked slightly on the clean floor.
"Special delivery," she said cheerfully, glancing at the label. "For Mrs. R, from Mr. Maxwell Derevrell."
The name echoed across the room.
At once, a ripple of excitement spread among the old women sitting nearby.
"Oh, him again!" one of them said with a knowing grin, her eyes lighting up.
"The man with the deep pockets," another teased, pretending to fan herself.
The nurse laughed. "You all know Mr. Maxwell. He's our biggest donor. Without him, we wouldn't have this new lounge or the upgraded kitchen."
The women murmured in agreement. There was a warmth in the air now, a quiet admiration that followed his name wherever it was spoken.
Grandma straightened proudly. "That's my Rosie's husband," she said, her voice full of affection.
The nurse smiled and carefully placed the package on Grandma's lap. Her fingers trembled a little as she untied the ribbon, the cream bow falling softly onto the blanket. I could see the anticipation in her eyes, the way she handled the box as if it contained something precious.
Inside were white lilies, her favorite. They looked so fresh, their petals glowing softly under the morning light. The scent filled the room instantly, clean, pure, and gentle. Nestled beside them was a basket of pastries that still felt warm. The buttery smell drifted through the air, and for a moment, everyone in the room seemed to breathe a little deeper.
There was also an envelope tucked neatly between the flowers. Grandma picked it up and handed it to me.
"Read it, dear," she said with a smile.
I opened it carefully. The handwriting was neat and strong. I recognized it right away. It was Maxwell's.
> Dear Grandma,
Thank you for being kind to Rose and for keeping her company.
You once said lilies remind you of peace, I hope these bring some to your morning.
Warm regards,
Maxwell Derevrell
Grandma let out a small laugh, the kind that came from deep in her chest. "Now that's a man with manners," she said proudly.
Then she reached for one of the pastries, tore off a small piece, and took a bite. Her eyes widened almost immediately. Then she began to laugh.
"Oh, Rosie," she said between chuckles, "your husband's pastries are better than yours."
The whole room erupted in laughter. Even the nurse couldn't hold back a giggle.
"Grandma!" I said, covering my face, trying to hide my smile.
"What?" she said, pretending to look shocked. "It's true! Yours always turn out a little burnt at the edges."
I shook my head, laughing softly. "That was one time."
"Twice," she corrected, still smiling. "The second time they were darker than my coffee."
"Grandma!"
She chuckled again and patted my hand affectionately. "Oh, Rosie. I'm only teasing. But you have to admit, these are heavenly. A man who can run a company and still send pastries this good, that's a man you hold on tight to."
"Everyone loves Mr. Maxwell," one of the old ladies said from across the room. "He's not just rich. He's kind. He built that new garden for us."
Another nodded. "And he visits sometimes. He talks to everyone, not just the staff. You can tell his heart is good."
I smiled faintly, a soft ache rising in my chest. "Yes," I said quietly. "He really is."
But inside, my heart felt heavy. Hearing them talk about him like that, kind, generous, perfect, reminded me of the man I had fallen in love with. The man I missed even when I didn't want to.
Just then, my phone buzzed on the table. I reached for it and glanced at the screen.
A message from Maxwell.
My fingers hesitated before opening it. I took a small breath and tapped.
> I just saw the message from the butler. I hope you arrived safely. I sent a few things for your grandmother. Once you're back, we'll talk and fix what needs fixing. I mean that.
I stared at the words for a long time. My chest tightened. His tone was calm, simple, but I could feel him in every word. The guilt, the care, the love he didn't know how to say out loud.
Grandma watched my face quietly. She had always known how to read me without needing to ask.
"He texted?" she said gently.
I nodded, my voice barely above a whisper. "Yes."
"Good," she said softly. "Don't stay angry too long, Rosie. Sometimes men speak better with actions than with words."
I looked down at my phone again. His words glowed faintly on the screen. Fix what needs fixing. A small part of me wanted to believe it, that he meant every word, that maybe we could still find our way back.
Later that evening, after the residents had gone to bed, the hallways of Sunny Hills were quiet. The lights were dim, and soft music played from the radio near the front desk. I helped Grandma settle into her bed and kissed her forehead.
"Thank you for coming today, Rosie," she whispered. "You always make my day brighter."
I smiled. "You make mine brighter too, Grandma."
She looked at me with tired eyes but still managed to grin. "Tell Maxwell I said thank you. And tell him the pastries caused a little trouble today, they made me tease my granddaughter too much."
I laughed softly. "I will."
"Drive safe, dear," she said, already half-asleep.
I turned off the light and stood by the doorway for a moment, watching her breathe slowly under her blanket. The lilies sat on the table beside her bed, their petals open wide, glowing in the dim light. The air smelled like peace.
Outside, the sky was painted with soft purple and orange as I walked toward my car. The evening was calm, and the city lights were just beginning to wake. I got into the car and placed the small bouquet of lilies on the seat beside me. The scent filled the car, wrapping around me like a memory I didn't want to let go of.
The road home was long and quiet. The hum of the engine and the whisper of the tires were the only sounds. My mind drifted back to Maxwell's text. Fix what needs fixing. Those words repeated in my head like a heartbeat.
I thought of the man I had loved, the one who used to stay up late just to bake me pastries after a long day, who used to bring me coffee in bed, who always made me laugh even when I was angry. Somewhere along the way, the laughter had faded, replaced by silence and distance. But now, reading his message, I wondered if maybe, just maybe, there was still something left to fix.
When I turned into the driveway of my mansion, the tall iron gates opened slowly. The house stood quiet, the windows reflecting the last of the sunset. I parked and stepped out, clutching the lilies close to my chest.
Then I heard it, the soft sound of hooves against the pavement. At first, I thought it was my imagination, but then I saw her.
Through the open gates, a woman rode across the lawn, her horse trotting gracefully under the fading light. Her laughter floated in the air, clear, confident, familiar.
Lizzy.
The sound of her name echoed in my mind before I could even say it. She looked so at ease, her hair catching the glow of the evening sun, her smile wide and carefree. She leaned forward on the horse, talking to someone near the stables, laughing again. Like she belonged there.
My heart sank so suddenly it hurt.
I stood frozen by my car, the lilies trembling slightly in my hand. My mind went blank. I didn't even know she was here. No one had told me. I hadn't prepared for this.
The sight of her, in my home, laughing so freely, felt like a sharp twist inside my chest. The kind of pain that steals your breath. For a moment, I couldn't move. I just stood there, watching her from a distance, my thoughts spinning but silent.
The lilies pressed against my chest. Their scent, which had felt so peaceful before, now mixed with something bitter. Something like betrayal.
I turned slowly and walked toward the front door. My heels clicked softly against the stone, each step heavier than the last. I didn't look back. I couldn't.
Inside, the house felt too big, too empty. I closed the door quietly behind me, and the echo of her laughter followed, soft and fading, like a memory I couldn't escape.
I leaned against the door, my breath shaky. My heart felt like it was breaking and holding itself together at the same time. I looked down at the lilies in my hands. Their white petals were still perfect, untouched. But somehow, they looked different now, like a promise that had already been broken.