“Yes,” I said. “It’s time to end it. For Dad. For every other family she ever hurt.”

“And for you,” Ethan added quietly. “Mostly, for you.”

The final crack of the gavel was like a peal of thunder in the silent courtroom.

“In light of the overwhelming evidence presented, and in consideration of the additional federal charges, this court hereby sentences the defendant, Margaret Phillips, also known as Jessica West, to life in prison without the possibility of parole.”

Margaret stood ramrod straight in her orange jumpsuit, every trace of her former polish and sophistication gone, replaced by a cold, hard emptiness. As the bailiffs led her past our bench, she stopped, turning to face me one last time.

“I hope you’re happy,” she hissed, her voice a low snarl. “You’ve destroyed everything.”

“No,” I replied, my voice calm and clear. “You did that all by yourself. The only difference is, this time, your target decided to fight back.”

A bailiff pulled her away before she could respond. Behind her, a visibly broken Mark was already being led out to begin serving his own fifteen-year sentence.

Outside the courthouse, a maelstrom of reporters engulfed us, but Chloe’s firm, authoritative voice cut through the chaos. “My client has no further comment, other than to say that justice has been served today—not only for her family, but for all the families who have been affected by these crimes.”

When we returned to the house, Ethan was waiting for us with a small, intricately carved wooden box. “The FBI finished processing Dad’s study this morning. They found this hidden in a secret compartment in his desk.”

Inside the box was a single, old-fashioned key and a note written in my father’s hand: For when justice blooms. Check the greenhouse.

The greenhouse had always been my father’s most private sanctuary, the place he went when he needed to think. I hadn’t set foot inside since he passed away.

“Do you want us to come with you?” Chloe asked gently.

I shook my head. “This is something I need to do alone.”

The old key turned smoothly in the lock. Inside, the air was warm and humid, rich with the sweet perfume of blooming flowers. My father’s prized collection of orchids was thriving, a testament to my brother’s quiet care over the past few months. In the center of the greenhouse, on Dad’s potting bench, was a large envelope with my name on it.

Inside, I found a property deed and another letter.

My dearest Maddie,

By now, justice has been served, and the truth has been brought into the light. But justice was never the only thing I hoped to cultivate. In this greenhouse, I grew more than just flowers; I grew hope. Hope that you would find your strength again, and that you would bloom, despite the long shadows others tried to cast over you.

The enclosed deed is for the vacant lot adjacent to your old flower shop. I bought it the day after I confronted Margaret. It is time for Harrison Gardens to grow beyond the confines of our home. Your gift for bringing beauty into this world is too great to be limited to a single garden.

Remember what I always taught you: some of the most beautiful flowers bloom only after a hard frost. You have weathered your winter, Maddie. Now, it is your season to bloom.

Love always,

Dad

I walked back to the house in a daze, the deed and the letter clutched in my hand. Ethan and Chloe were waiting for me in the kitchen.

“Well?” Ethan asked.

I laid the deed on the kitchen island. “He bought the lot next to my old shop. He wanted me to expand the business.”

“That’s not all he did,” Chloe said, pulling out her tablet. “The trademark for ‘Harrison Gardens, LLC’ was officially registered six months ago. He laid all the groundwork—business plans, permits, even initial funding. The only thing it’s missing is you.”

“And us,” Ethan added with a small smile. “I’ve learned a thing or two about horticulture these past few months. Someone had to keep his orchids alive.”

A knock at the back door made us turn. The detective stood on the porch, a pleased expression on his face. “I just wanted to let you know, three more of Margaret Phillips’s victims have come forward since the verdict was announced. With their testimony and your father’s evidence, we expect to close more than a dozen cold cases.”

“Dad would have liked that,” I said. “He always believed that every truth finds its way to the light, eventually.”

“Speaking of the truth,” Ethan said after the detective had left, “I found something else when I was watering the plants in the greenhouse.”

He showed me a photo on his phone of a small, discreet brass plaque, tucked away among the orchids. The inscription read: For Maddie, who taught me that the strongest flowers grow in the most broken of places.

“He put that there right after my divorce,” I realized, my voice thick with emotion. “He knew, even back then, that I would find my way through this.”

“So,” Chloe said, pulling out a legal pad with a familiar, determined glint in her eye. “Shall I begin drafting the official business incorporation papers for Harrison Gardens?”

I looked out the kitchen window at my father’s garden, where the white roses bloomed, resilient and beautiful despite all that had happened. Beyond them, I could see the future he had so carefully planned for me—a future not defined by justice, but by growth; not by mere survival, but by a chance to flourish.

“Yes,” I said, feeling a strength and purpose I hadn’t felt in years. “It’s time to grow something new.”

“To Dad,” Isaiah said, raising his coffee mug in a toast.

“To justice,” Chloe added, raising hers.

I picked up my own mug, my mind filled with images of orchids and roses, of truth and time, of painful endings and hopeful beginnings.

“To blooming again.”

Through the window, the garden glowed in the warm afternoon sun, each and every flower a living testament to my father’s unwavering belief that beauty can, and will, grow in even the hardest of soils. He had given me more than justice. He had given me back my future, one bloom at a time.