24/05/2025
Where the Wildflowers Grow
She came back every spring.
The meadow behind the cottage was blooming again, just like it had five years ago—before Adam died. Lollipop stood there quietly, fingers grazing wildflowers like they were made of memory. Grief had never been loud for her. It was quiet, constant. Like the echo of a voice you still turn toward in the dark.
Then she saw him.
A stranger, sketching in the field—messy hair, charcoal-stained hands. He looked up with a soft smile. “Didn’t mean to intrude,” he said. “It’s peaceful here.”
“It used to be ours,” Lollipop replied.
His name was Elias. And over the weeks, they shared that meadow. No expectations. Just presence.
He never asked about the sadness in her eyes. But he saw it. And still, he stayed.
One day, he handed her a sketch—her, sitting among the wildflowers, her hand resting on one Adam once tucked behind her ear years ago.
Tears came.
“You saw something I forgot I still had,” she whispered. “Life.”
Seasons passed. Silence turned to conversation, pain softened into laughter, and slowly, something grew where only sorrow had been. Love—not rushed or loud, but steady. Kind.
When autumn came, Lollipop placed a bronze bird—Adam’s favorite sculpture—in the grass. “I think he’d want me to be happy,” she said.
Elias took her hand. She didn’t pull away.
That winter, they painted the cottage. By spring, wildflowers bloomed outside the windows again.
And so did she.
—
Some endings aren’t endings at all. Just new beginnings waiting to be brave enough.
If this touched your heart, share it with someone who believes in second chances.
