Victoria
Dawn painted the sky in hues of lavender and gold as I made my way through the dewy grass toward my mother's garden. Despite the early hour, Leo walked silently beside me, his powerful presence both comforting and grounding. This would be my third visit to the garden since discovering my mother was alive, but today felt different—more urgent, more purposeful.
"You're sure about this?" Leo asked, his voice low and gravelly from our sleepless night planning strategies.
I nodded, my fingers brushing against a fern that seemed to lean toward me as I passed. "The connection grows stronger each time. Yesterday I could almost hear her voice through the roses."
We reached the entrance to my mother's sanctuary—a wrought iron archway now covered in morning glories that bloomed
