After the arrogant heir of the estate he had cherished and tended most of his life cruelly dismissed Elias, the devoted gardener made one last visit to a truly special garden. While lost in bittersweet memories, Elias stumbled upon something unexpected — a discovery that would forever change the future for him and his grandson. I was kneeling in the west garden, my hands sunk deep in the rich, cool earth, when Beatrice from the kitchen came hurrying over, her cheeks red with concern.
“Elias! Did you hear? Mr.
Reginald is coming home today. He’s going to run everything.”
I nodded slowly, pushing another bulb into the soil. “Yes.
I’ve heard.”
I had dreaded this day ever since old Mr. Theodore passed away. For decades, I had looked after these gardens, seen countless seasons pass, each flower and every fallen leaf part of my own life story.
No spot on earth felt more like home than this ground. But now Reginald — Theodore’s only son — was returning to take what he thought belonged to him. “What do you think will happen to us?” Beatrice asked, her voice tiny as the breeze stirred the hedges.
“We keep doing our jobs,” I said quietly. “That’s all we can do.”
What I didn’t share was how much I missed Theodore. He had been far more than a boss — he was a true friend, someone I shared calm mornings and long afternoons with.
We spent endless hours caring for the secret garden behind the main house. There, among the aged roses and tough weeds, we told stories, laughed, and enjoyed easy silences that needed no words. “Grandpa, I finished all my homework!
Can I help you now?”
My grandson, Finn, stood at the garden’s edge, eyes shining. Since the crash two years ago that took my daughter and her husband, Finn had become my rock. He was kind, thoughtful, and always eager to learn things books couldn’t teach.
“Of course,” I called with a smile. “Come help me with these bulbs.”
We worked side by side in a peaceful flow until the crunch of car tires on gravel shattered the quiet. A shiny car pulled up in front of the main house, and out stepped Reginald.
“Is that him?” Finn whispered, clutching the garden fork. I nodded, my heart dropping. Even after all this time, I knew that same icy arrogance — the same boy who once ripped up tulips just to see me suffer.
“Remember what I taught you,” I said gently. “Be respectful, stay out of trouble, and—”
“Never let anyone make me feel small,” Finn finished. “I remember, Grandpa.”
The first few weeks under Reginald were worse than any nightmare I had imagined.
The staff scurried like scared mice, always glancing for his shadow. He criticized everything, fired people without warning, and demanded perfection everywhere. Where Theodore had been gentle and patient, Reginald was harsh and mean.
“Elias, right?” Reginald said one afternoon, his tone thick with scorn, as if we had never met. “The gardener my father liked so much.”
“Yes, sir,” I replied, standing up from the rose bushes to face him. “These hedges are a disgrace.
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