Chapter 10 - The Unpotted Plant
Six months later, spring arrived with a vengeance, turning the suburban lawns into a vibrant, unruly green.
I was standing on the front porch one Saturday morning, drinking my coffee and watching Iris ride her bicycle down the freshly paved driveway, when I noticed something near the edge of the property line.
Half-buried in the overgrown mulch beside the garbage bins sat the sickly jade plant.
Cal had left it behind when he hauled his belongings away, forgotten in the rush of his hasty exit. Someone—probably a neighborhood kid or a stray animal—had knocked the pot over a few weeks ago, shattering the chipped ceramic rim and spilling the dry, gray soil out across the dirt.
I walked over, expecting to shovel the dead roots into the trash can.
As I bent down to pick up the broken pieces of ceramic, I stopped.
Near the center of the tangled, overwatered root ball, buried beneath months of neglect and bitter winter frost, a tiny, vibrant green shoot had punched its way up through the dead leaves. It was small, stubborn, and impossibly bright—reaching upward toward the open sky, completely unbothered by the poor soil it had been forced to grow in.
I didn't throw it away.
May you like
I didn't bring it inside, either. I left it right where it was, grabbed a small trowel from the shed, scooped fresh, rich earth around its base, and watered it thoroughly with the garden hose.
Let it root where it stood. I had my own garden to tend to now, and for the first time in a very long time, every single room in the house belonged to us.
