Chapter 278
Chapter 278
Time is the ultimate remedy.
It can wash away everything and dilute everything.
Margaret thought of Richard, thought of that butterfly orchid she had personally chosen.
The moment she gave it away, she knew that some hardened corner of her heart had begun to soften.
She couldn't easily say the word "forgiveness"—those wounds had been real.
But she was finally willing to admit that he was now trying, however clumsily, to become light.
Margaret took a deep breath. The stifling, murky air that had been trapped in her chest for so long slowly escaped with that breath. Some heavy corner of her heart was gradually becoming lighter.
She looked up at that brilliant river of stars, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.
The journey home—perhaps it wasn't just about returning to a place, but about finding a new beginning where she could make peace with the past and with herself.
...
The plane landed at four in the morning.
Margaret hadn't notified anyone. She collected her luggage alone and walked out of the airport.
The cold autumn wind hit her face, jolting her completely awake from the haze of the long flight.
She caught the earliest train to Riverbend City.
When she stood once again in the courtyard of the Kennedy family ancestral home, it was already dusk.
The setting sun's afterglow painted the magnolia tree in the yard with a gentle golden edge.
The air carried the faint lingering fragrance of osmanthus flowers that had finished blooming, mixed with the fresh scent of earth and plants.
Everything here was exactly as she had left it.
She settled into the ancestral home, not rushing to handle any work, barely even checking her phone. Most of her time was spent sorting through her mother's belongings.
The next day, Margaret entered the greenhouse.
Several panes of roof glass were broken, cobwebs gathered dust, and empty flower pots lay scattered across the shelves.
She found tools and began cleaning by herself.
She carefully removed the broken glass, measured the dimensions with a ruler, and contacted an old craftsman in town to make replacements. She moved all the old flower pots to the yard, scrubbing each one clean with water and leaving them to dry in the sunlight.
At first, this manual labor left her body aching all over.
Black dirt was embedded under her fingernails, and thin calluses formed on her delicate palms. Sweat slid down her temples, soaking her collar and clinging stickily to her skin.
But she felt an unprecedented sense of peace.
When her fingers touched the moist soil, when she carefully planted a newly bought orchid seedling into a pot and covered it with loose humus, that solid, profound life force from the earth gradually transmitted into her body.
In this process, she was no longer the business queen who battled among numbers and reports—just a daughter restoring her mother's unfulfilled wish.
Each cleared space, each planted orchid, felt like making peace with some past regret, like filling some hollowed-out corner of her heart.
She began to enjoy this labor.
The scent of earth, the warmth of sunlight, the slow but determined growth of plants.
All of it made her feel fulfilled.
Meanwhile, on the top floor of the Neville Group Building.
Richard had just finished a lengthy meeting when his assistant placed a schedule briefing on his desk.
On the last page of the briefing were a few lines of small text.
"Ms. Kennedy returned to the country three days ago. She is currently residing at the Kennedy Manor in Riverbend City and has not contacted the company."
Richard's gaze lingered on those lines for a long time.
He didn't pursue further information about her, nor did he show any urgency to see her.
She had returned.
Returned to where her roots lay.
He knew she was rebuilding a stable world that belonged to her, in her own way.
What he could do wasn't to barge in, but to add a touch of scenery to her world that she might appreciate.
He picked up the internal phone.
"Help me check if there's a vacant lot next to the Kennedy Manor in Riverbend City."
His assistant was efficient, calling back within half an hour.
"Mr. Neville, I found it. The lot is approximately 0.75 acres, owned by an elderly gentleman who has been living overseas long-term. Apparently, he's been wanting to sell, but the price negotiations have been stalled."
"Whatever the price, buy it."
Richard's tone brooked no argument. "Also, contact the best landscape designer in the country. I want a design proposal. Remember, when construction begins, don't disturb the neighbors."
He hung up and walked back to the floor-to-ceiling window.
He remembered something Camila had mentioned casually long ago.
She'd said Margaret's mother's greatest wish while alive was to create a four-season garden next to the Kennedy Manor.
He was doing all this without expecting her to know, much less to gain credit for it.
He simply wanted to fulfill an unfinished dream of her mother's.
Perhaps someday, when she opened her window and saw not barren wasteland but a garden in full bloom, she might smile—truly smile.
Just seeing that smile would be enough for him.
The restoration of the orchid greenhouse proved more mentally taxing than Margaret had imagined.
She needed to study extensive materials, learning the habits of different orchid varieties and controlling the temperature and humidity in the greenhouse.
That afternoon, searching for an old book about caring for "Jian Lan" orchids, she climbed into the attic to look through her mother's collection.
The attic was dimly lit and filled with various items.
In a wooden box covered with thick dust, she spotted a familiar velvet case.
She opened the box. Inside lay a fountain pen.
Black barrel, gold clip, classic and understated in design.
It was from Richard.
She held the fountain pen in her hand, the cool metal against her palm.
Instinctively, she unscrewed the cap.
There, on the inside of the cap near the edge of the metal ring, she saw a line of letters so tiny they were almost imperceptible, carefully engraved.
M & R.
Margaret's movements froze.
She clearly remembered that day when he handed her the pen, his face expressionless, saying in a businesslike tone: "Pleasure doing business."
Pleasure doing business.
But if it was just business, why go to such lengths to engrave both their initials in such a hidden place?
In that moment, many scenes from the past played back in her mind like frames of a movie.
He had clumsily tended to her wounds, quietly prepared chicken soup during her period, bought an entire street's worth of apple pies because of one offhand comment she'd made...
Those actions she had attributed to "compensation" or "a powerful man's whims" seemed to have an entirely different explanation in light of those three small letters: "M & R."
She traced the cool metal engraving with her fingertip, the sensation clear and profound.
So in places she couldn't see, in what she thought was a beginning filled only with calculation and transaction, some seeds had perhaps been quietly planted by his own hand.
...
Several months later, the launch event for "Margaret New Energy Group's" next-generation "Dawn 5.0" technology was held grandly at the National Convention Center.
Under the spotlight, Margaret wore a crisp white suit, her long hair pinned up with just a few strands framing her face, making her cool features appear both feminine and sharp with executive authority.