Chapter 27 The garden of unspoken dreams
The morning air was crisp, carrying the lingering scent of last night’s rain, but inside our kitchen, the atmosphere was suffocating. Maya had already whisked a grumpy Leo off to daycare, leaving a heavy silence in her wake. I was frantically packing my nursing kit, my mind already halfway to the Blackwood estate, when I felt my mother’s hand on my arm.
She looked as though she hadn't slept a wink. Her eyes were bloodshot, her face pale against the floral pattern of her dressing gown.
"Elena, wait," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I had a dream last night. It was him. It was Victor, but he was Jacob. He was standing in a field of gray, reaching for me, and then this... this wall of glass slammed down between us. He was being pulled away, El. He’s in danger. He’s trapped in that life."
I felt a sharp, jagged surge of irritation boil up in my chest. I dropped my bag on the counter with a loud thud. "Mom, please. Not today. Not this again."
"But it felt so real, Elena! The look in his eyes—"
"It’s always 'so real' with you!" I snapped, my voice rising in a way that made me feel instantly guilty, yet I couldn't stop. "Mom, you’re losing your mind over this. You’re obsessed! It’s been thirty-one years. Jacob is gone. Victor is a Blackwood who grew up in Paris. The dates don't match, the history doesn't match, nothing matches!"
"My heart matches, Elena—"
"Your heart is making everyone in this house lose it!" I shouted, the rage finally spilling over. "Every time you look at Victor and see a ghost, you’re ignoring the daughters who are standing right in front of you. Maya and I have spent our whole lives trying to fill a hole that you refuse to let close. It makes everything tense. It makes every holiday a mourning session. I’m tired of it. I’m tired of mourning for a brother I never even knew!"
I didn't wait for her to cry. I didn't wait for her to apologize. I grabbed my bag and bolted out the door, the cool morning air hitting my heated face like a slap. I rushed for the 6:30 AM bus, my heart hammering a rhythm of pure, unadulterated frustration.
By the time I reached the mansion, my anger had settled into a low, throbbing ache in my temples. I descended the elevator to the basement, expecting the usual clinical silence. Instead, I found Victor already seated in his chair, positioned by the massive floor-to-ceiling window that looked out over the manicured rear gardens.
"Hello, sunshine," he greeted me without turning around, his voice a calm anchor in my stormy morning.
"Hey, Victor," I replied, my voice flat, sounding exactly as pissed off as I felt.
He paused, the motors of his chair whirring softly as he turned to face me. He studied my face for a long second, his dark eyes narrowing. "What's wrong? You sound like you’re ready to bite the head off the first person who breathes too loudly."
I slumped into one of the kitchen chairs, dropping my head into my hands. "Nothing serious, Victor. I don't want to stress you out with it. Just some silly family issues."
"Silly?" He moved closer, the wheels of his chair stopping just inches from my feet. "Come on, Elena. You’re a lot of things, but you don't get worked up like this over 'silly' things. What happened? Is it Liam again? Did he forget his apology already?"
"No, it’s not Liam," I sighed, looking up at him. "It’s my mom, Victor. I don't know... I truly think she might be losing her mind. This whole Jacob thing—she won't let it go. Even after yesterday, after the dates proved it’s impossible, she’s still on it. I’m just exhausted."
Victor’s expression didn't change, but his gaze softened. "She still thinks I’m him?"
"Yes! She’s even having dreams about you now. She woke up in a panic because she saw you being 'pulled away' in some nightmare. It’s like she’s living in a fantasy world where you’re her long-lost son and we’re all just supporting characters in her drama."
"She just misses him, Elena," Victor said quietly. "Give her time. Grief like that doesn't have an expiration date."
"But she doesn't consider our feelings!" I stood up, pacing the small kitchenette area. "Maya and I get affected by this every single day. It’s like she can't see us. No matter how much we try to be the perfect daughters, no matter how much we achieve, she’s always aching for the one who isn't there. I’m just tired of competing with a ghost."
Victor watched me for a moment, then reached out, his hand hovering near mine on the counter. "I understand. More than you think. But you aren't going to solve thirty years of grief by sitting in this basement stewing in it. It’s a beautiful morning. Let’s get out of here. Pack a picnic just some fruit, those pies from yesterday, and some water. Let's go to the garden. We’ll rewind and catch up properly." I spread a blanket on a flat, grassy knoll near the koi pond, while Victor sat in his chair beside me, the sun catching the silver in his watch.
The air was refreshing, a light breeze carrying the scent of damp earth and roses. Small, bold sparrows began to land nearby, and I found myself tearing off small pieces of crust from a pie, tossing them onto the grass.
"You have a gift, you know," Victor said suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence.
"For feeding birds?" I teased, finally feeling the tension in my neck begin to unravel.
"No. For color. For style," he said, gesturing to the way I’d arranged the picnic, and the way I’d chosen my outfit today—a vibrant orange scarf that contrasted beautifully with the deep green of the lawn. "I watched you yesterday. You have an eye that most people would kill for. Why are you wasting it as a nurse?"
I looked down at my hands. "It’s a stable career, Victor. It pays the bills. Fashion is... it's a dream for people with money. People like you."
"That’s a lie, and you know it," he countered, his voice firm. "Paris is the heart of the world for a reason. I grew up there, Elena. I’ve seen the ateliers in the First Arrondissement, the schools like ESMOD or the Institut Français de la Mode. You belong there. You belong in a place where your 'rainbow' isn't just a nickname, but a brand."
I looked at him, surprised by the intensity in his voice. "Paris? That’s an ocean away, Victor."
"It’s just a flight," he said, his eyes bright with a sudden, infectious spark. "Life in Paris... it’s different. People don't just live; they savor. You’d wake up to the smell of fresh baguettes, walk through the Jardin du Luxembourg, and spend your afternoons surrounded by silk and sketches. I could help you. I have connections there that could put you in the right rooms."
"I can't just leave my family. Especially not now, with Mom like this."
"Maybe leaving is exactly what you need to do to stop being a 'supporting character' in her story," he said softly. "Think about it, Elena. A career in fashion. Paris. A life that belongs entirely to you."
I sat back, looking up at the vast blue sky. For the first time, the "Jacob" drama felt small. The "Liam" drama felt distant. Here, in the sun-drenched garden with Victor, the world felt like it was expanding. I watched a sparrow take a crumb from the grass and soar toward the trees, and for a fleeting moment, I let myself imagine what it would be like to follow it.
"Paris," I whispered, the word tasting like a promise.
Victor smiled—a real, triumphant smile. "Paris. Trust me, Rainbow. You’d make the Eiffel Tower look dull by comparison."