I stop.
The garden.
All along the back edge, tucked in between her existing rows like they were always supposed to be there —
Blue daisies.
Dozens of them.
New ones. Small, freshly planted, the soil still dark around their roots.
I stand there for a second, not fully processing.
Then Cassian comes around the side of the house, work gloves in his hand, dirt on his forearms, and sees me standing there staring.
He stops.
Doesn't say anything.
Just watches my face.
• • •
"When did you —" I start.
"This morning. While you were asleep."
I look at the garden again.
All those small blue heads.
Hers, and now these. Side by side. Like they grew toward each other.
"Cassian."
"Mm."
"You planted blue daisies."
"I'm aware."
I turn and look at him. He's watching me with that expression — the careful one, the one that means he did something and isn't sure how it's going to land, which is a very rare and precious look on a person who is usually certain about everything.
"Why?" I ask.
He's quiet for a moment.
Then:
"Because they were hers," he says.
"And I wanted them to be ours too."
• • •
I look at him for a long time.
He looks back.
