I never really understood why my grandfather, Matthew, held onto grudges for so long, especially his never-ending feud with our neighbor, John Gilliam. For as long as I could remember, they were always arguing over the smallest things. But their biggest battle? Their gardens. Both men took great pride in their flowers and lawns, treating them like prized possessions. The whole neighborhood knew about their rivalry—it was legendary. Some people even joked that they should’ve been on a reality TV show. My mother and I loved flowers, and my grandfather

Arthur had spent decades caring for the estate, his hands deep in the soil, making sure every flower bloomed and every hedge stood tall. He knew every corner of the sprawling grounds like the back of his hand. But today, something felt different. Margaret, from the kitchen, hurried over to him, her face pale with worry. “Arthur, have you heard?” she asked breathlessly. “Mr. Stuart is coming home today. He’s taking over everything.” Arthur nodded slowly, his mind already racing. “Yes, I heard.” The day he had feared since old

I was eating lunch at my desk, poking at a sad salad that felt like punishment for the extra slices of pizza I’d indulged in over the weekend, when my phone buzzed. I glanced at the screen and nearly dropped my fork. It was a name I hadn’t seen in forever—Tessa. We had been close in college, inseparable even, but life took us in different directions after graduation. We had kept in touch, but only through the occasional Instagram like or a short birthday message. So, seeing her name pop