After the spoiled heir of the estate he’s tended for decades cruelly fired Arthur, the humiliated gardener visited one special garden one last time. As he reminisced, Arthur noticed something strange, leading him to make a life-changing discovery. I was on my knees in the east garden, hands deep in the cool soil, when Margaret from the kitchen staff rushed over, her face flushed with worry. “Arthur, have you heard? Mr. Stuart is coming home today. He’s taking over everything.”

I nodded slowly, carefully placing another bulb into the ground. “Yes, I heard.” I’d been dreading this day since old Mr. Jared passed. For years, I’d tended these grounds and watched the seasons change from behind my wheelbarrow, pruning shears in hand.

This estate knew my footprints better than any place on earth. And now Stuart was coming home to claim his inheritance. “What will happen to us?” Margaret asked, her voice small against the vastness of the estate. “We do our jobs,” I said simply. “That’s all we can do.” What I didn’t say was how my heart ached when I thought about Jared. He wasn’t just my employer — he was my friend. We’d spent countless hours working side by side in the small garden behind the main house. There, among the climbing roses and stubborn weeds, we’d shared stories, silence, and laughter.

“Grandpa, I finished my homework. Can I help with the planting?” Eli, my 14-year-old grandson, stood at the garden’s edge. Since the accident two years ago that took my daughter and her husband, Eli had been my reason for waking up each morning. He was polite, studious, and hungry for books in a way that amazed me. “Sure, come on over. We’re putting in the spring bulbs.”