I Died in the Garden He Made for His Lover

"Change of plans. Go with the latest one."

No questions. Just one word back: *Okay.*

The tears came anyway, sliding down my face in silence.

The family doctor had come many times now, injecting me with something I couldn't identify.

For my own good, they said. But every time the needle went in, I'd sink into a dead sleep and wake up with nothing left in my body—no strength, no will.

He was going to keep me here forever. Hollow me out until I was useless for anything except whatever they needed me to do.

It wasn't until the day before Joy left for the international competition that William appeared in my room again.

"I'm not going. Can't be bothered. You should be satisfied now, William." The needle already poised at my arm stopped mid-air.

The two of them exchanged a look. William gave a small nod, and the doctor said, "Mrs. Gilbert doesn't need the injection for now, Mr. Gilbert. A few days of rest should do."

William, smooth as ever: "All right. You can head out."

There was no argument between us. No screaming. "Help me sit up," I said quietly.

He propped me against the headboard. I looked at him steadily. "William. How many years have we known each other?"

"Thirty."

I smiled and shook my head. "Thirty-one."

We'd been tangled together since before we were born—still in our mothers' bellies. Everyone said we were a perfect match. Destined. Childhood sweethearts.

Only fate had dealt us that hand and then shredded it a long time ago.

"Why bring this up?"

"No reason. William—tell me. What is it you like about me? Why did you marry me?"

"You've asked me that for decades. Aren't you sick of the question?"

"Or is it me you're sick of?"

His mouth opened. Closed. "Where is this coming from?"

He didn't even have the nerve to say it out loud. William, you coward.

"William—you and those flower seeds. That's all I've had, all these decades. The only two things that mattered."

"What are you getting at?"

"I told you once, didn't I? If the day came when you didn't want me anymore, when you'd had enough of me, we could split up clean. Walk away with some dignity. So why did you have to do it like this instead—lock me in this bed until there's nothing left of me?"

"What nonsense is that? I have never once thought about divorcing you!" Something cracked behind his expression.

I knew he would never say it to my face—because admitting it would mean betraying not just me, but the boy he used to be, the one who held me and cried and swore he'd love me for the rest of his life.

I didn't need his confession. I'd already seen everything with my own eyes.

"Do you remember when we were little, I told you my dream? Do you still remember what it was?"

I sat there on the bed, watching him with a faint, gentle smile.

That quiet struck something in him—a flicker of panic behind his eyes. "Your dream was to become a floral research expert like your parents, wasn't it?" Maybe because I looked too calm, his gaze sharpened with suspicion.

He knew I'd found out. We just hadn't torn the mask off yet.

He held out the bowl of medicine. "Drink this. Get some rest. Don't think about anything. And don't ever worry that I'd leave you—I'm not going anywhere, all right? I couldn't."

"Will I really get better if I drink it?"

"You will."

I laughed softly. "Even if it were poison, if you were the one handing it to me, I'd still drink it."

"What are you saying?"

I looked at the bowl. "One last question. All these years—why have you never once brought up having children?"

"Junie?"

"You haven't called me that in a long time either."

He had nothing to say to that.

I smiled, lifted the bowl, and drank it all.

Something about it nagged at William—the exchange, the smile—but he couldn't pin it down.

He lit a cigarette and headed for the door.

But my words kept turning over in his head, and that last smile, and then it was like something clicked.

"William, my dream isn't to grow flowers like Mom and Dad. Their dream isn't my dream. I'm going to be your bride! I'll go with you to every corner of the world, and we'll leave our mark everywhere. Hundreds of years from now, thousands of years from now, people will stand where we stood and see the same view!"

He stopped mid-step. The housekeeper came rushing out behind him, gasping. "Sir—sir, it's bad! She drank the medicine and now she's vomiting blood, she can't stop, she's screaming in pain—please, you have to come back!"

He spun around. In the same instant, a massive blast tore through Hillside Estate.

Fire engulfed everything.