Doina stared at him in utter disbelief, her mouth hanging open 😮. “Are you serious, Marian? After all these years? You’re letting her turn you against your own blood over some stupid flowers and a little dirt?”
“No,” Marian replied, stepping between her and the garden 🛡️. “I’m protecting my wife. She has given you seven years of her hard work, and you never even brought her a cup of coffee or said thank you. The garden is closed.”
Doina let out a shrill laugh of indignation, muttering about how ungrateful and selfish we had both become 🗣️. She turned on her heel, slammed her car door shut, and drove away, kicking up a cloud of dust that settled quietly over the gravel driveway.
That evening, Marian took a shovel and carefully finished planting the rest of my flowers 🌷. He dug the holes, carried the water buckets, and helped me arrange the lavender bushes along the stone path. We converted the remaining open space into a smooth green lawn where we could sit in the evenings.
