Morning light filtered through the retreat's glass walls, illuminating the terraced flower fields in a soft wash of gold. Olivia stood at the edge of the widest terrace, cradling a wicker basket brimming with freshly cut windflower blooms—her hybrid cultivar, specially engineered to be X-17–free. The petals glowed pale lavender, edged in silver, their fragrance a gentle whisper of spring.
Alexander approached from the path below, Leo skipping beside him, each clutching their own small bouquet. Alexander's gait was steady, unburdened by the tremor that once haunted his every muscle. Olivia's heart fluttered at the sight of him: tall, confident, and at ease among the very flowers that had once been both his salvation and his curse.
“Good morning," Alexander called, smiling as he neared. He
