Chapter 10 - A LETTER FOR BOTH DAUGHTERS
On the fifth anniversary of the ruined wedding, Charlotte stood beside the restored fountain at sunset, holding Ethan’s hand.
The mansion garden looked nothing like Isabella’s wedding day.
No gold chairs.
No performance.
Only roses, stone paths, low music from inside, and women laughing near tables where attorneys offered free consultations between glasses of lemonade.
Isabella was across the garden helping Mrs. Vega arrange flowers.
Mrs. Vega, now retired, had become the foundation’s unofficial guardian and told donors when their shoes were wrong for grass.
Dana stood near the terrace arguing with a judge about donor restrictions.
Ethan watched her.
“Should we intervene?”
Charlotte shook her head.
“Never step between Dana and a restriction.”
“Wise.”
Charlotte looked at the fountain.
The water glowed pink in the sunset.
For a second, she saw herself there again.
Soaked.
Shaking.
Ring in hand.
Then the memory shifted.
Now she saw Caroline’s sketch.
Wild roses around water.
A garden someday.
Ethan squeezed her hand.
“You okay?”
Charlotte nodded.
“Yes.”
“Really?”
She smiled.
“Really.”
Isabella walked over with a small envelope.
“I found this in Dad’s old storage.”
Charlotte stiffened.
Isabella held it out.
“It’s from Mom. Addressed to both of us.”
They opened it together beside the fountain.
Caroline’s handwriting curved across the page.
My girls,
If you are reading this together, then something in the world has been repaired.
Charlotte covered her mouth.
Isabella began crying immediately.
The letter was short.
Not dramatic.
Caroline wrote that she loved them differently because they were different, but never unequally. She wrote that Charles feared love he could not control. She wrote that if he ever set them against each other, they should remember they shared more than his version of the house.
At the bottom, she had drawn two small roses growing from the same stem.
Charlotte touched the drawing.
Isabella leaned against her shoulder.
This time, Charlotte let her.
Across the garden, Ethan looked away to give them privacy.
Good man, Caroline might have said.
Or maybe: Let him keep proving it.
Charlotte smiled through tears.
The fountain moved behind them.
May you like
Not washing away the past.
Carrying it differently.
