The Truth Beneath the Tulips
Eden hadn’t been home in years. And now, standing in the house where she grew up, grief was still the loudest voice in the room. But a visit to her mother’s grave would unearth more than just memories—it would reveal secrets she never saw coming. And in the quiet space between anger and understanding, Eden would learn what love really meant.
The Ghosts of Home
Two years. That’s how long it had been since Eden left. Two years of college textbooks, microwave dinners, and the hollow ache of sleeping in a place where her mother’s voice couldn’t reach her.
No matter how far she ran, no matter how many dorm rooms she moved through, her mother’s grave stayed with her—like a song stuck in her head, humming beneath everything else.
Her mom, Miranda, had died when Eden was fifteen.
Breast cancer. It happened fast—too fast. One month, her mother was painting sunflowers in the kitchen, baking orange-cardamom muffins with her hair tied back in a ribbon. The next, she was in a hospital bed, her voice barely louder than the machines, her smile worn thin by exhaustion.
Miranda had been their center of gravity. And when she was gone, the ground beneath them cracked.
Asher, Eden’s little brother, was only ten when it happened. He pretended it didn’t break him. He stopped crying after the funeral. But he started sleeping with the hallway light on. And sometimes, Eden would find little notes under his pillow—letters to their mother, as if grief worked like magic and she could collect his love while he slept.
“Mom, I got an A on my math test. I wish you were here to see it.”
“Mom, I dreamed about you last night. Did you visit me?”
Eden would read them when he wasn’t looking, her heart aching at the way children carry sorrow.
Sometimes, she forgot she had been a child too.
The Woman Who Moved In
A year after Miranda died, Eden’s father, Lucas, met Sandra.
He said they met at a school fundraiser—Sandra had delivered the flowers for the event.
“Eden, she’s warm,” Lucas told them. “You’ll really like her, Asher.”
Sandra had a soft voice and wore skirts that swished when she walked.
At first, Eden tried. She smiled when Sandra came over. She asked polite questions. She even complimented her earrings once, just to ease the tension.
But then, things started changing.
Not small things. Big things.
Sandra began “freshening up” the house.
That was her phrase—freshening up. But what it really meant was erasing Miranda.
Family photos disappeared from the hallway.
“What the hell?” Eden muttered when she saw the blank wall.
Then, the painting Miranda had made—the one of a rainy street corner, Eden’s favorite—vanished too.
“Oh, that one had water damage, sweetie,” Sandra said, barely looking up from her laptop. “It smelled like mold. We couldn’t have that in the house.”
“Funny,” Eden shot back, crossing her arms. “It didn’t smell like mold when I left for school this morning.”
Sandra smiled like Eden was a child throwing a tantrum.
“Eden, honey, your dad and I agreed. A cleaner space will help all of us move forward.”
“You mean… forget her?” Eden’s jaw clenched.
“Eat an orange, dear,” Sandra said, changing the subject. “You’ve been looking a little pale. It’ll help your skin.”
Then came the final straw.
One afternoon, Eden came home to find three black garbage bags by the front door. She didn’t even need to look inside to know what they held.
Her mother’s clothes. Her scarves. The oversized cardigan she always wore. The blouse from her last birthday. All folded neatly, ready to be donated.
Eden’s chest went cold.
“What the hell is this?” she demanded, storming into the living room.
“It’s time, Eden,” Sandra said, stepping out of the kitchen. “These things are keeping you all stuck. It’s time for you three to be free.”
“But they’re my mom’s!” Eden sobbed.
“I know this hurts… but she’s gone,” Sandra said quietly.
“You don’t get to do this, Sandra! You don’t get to take her away from us!” Eden shouted, hoping her father would step in.
And he did—rubbing the back of his neck like he was dealing with a tantrum.
“Eden, please, baby,” he said. “We’re trying to create a livable space again. Mom’s spirit is attached to everything here. It’s hard for us to move forward when we’re surrounded by so much pain.”
“That’s great, darling,” Sandra told him, smiling. “That’s exactly what I’ve been trying to achieve—new light, new beginnings.”
That night, Eden filled out college applications for schools far away.
She just had to survive a few more months.
Then, she left.
And she didn’t come back.
The Pull of the Past
But last week, something changed.
A sharp, quiet tug in her chest—stronger than homesickness. She missed Asher. His terrible knock-knock jokes. The way he scribbled comics at the kitchen table. Even his awful habit of chewing pens.
She needed to see him. Not through a screen. In person.
So she booked a bus ticket. Packed lightly. Came home without telling anyone.
But she didn’t go to the house first.
She went to the cemetery.
Her mother’s grave had always been sacred—the one place untouched by Sandra’s scented candles and fresh paint. The headstone was simple: Miranda’s name, the dates, and a line from her favorite poem.
“And still, like air, I rise.”
Eden used to sit there for hours, talking to her like she’d just stepped out and would be right back.
But as she stepped through the iron gate, she froze.
Someone was already there.
A woman knelt at her mother’s grave, her back turned.
At first, Eden thought it was a stranger—someone who’d known Miranda years ago.
But then the sunlight touched her hair.
And Eden’s stomach dropped.
Sandra.
She was kneeling in the dirt, her hands moving carefully around the headstone.
Eden’s body tensed.
She’s taking something from her again.
“What the hell are you doing?!” Eden shouted, storming forward. “Stop that right now or I’ll call the police!”
Sandra turned, startled. Her hands were covered in dirt. Her knees were soaked. And her cheeks—streaked with tears.
“Eden,” she said softly. “Please, let me explain.”
But Eden didn’t want explanations. She wanted to scream.
“You shouldn’t be here, Sandra. You don’t belong here.”
“I know how this looks,” Sandra whispered. “But please… just look.”
Eden glanced down.
And her breath caught.
Sandra wasn’t destroying anything.
She was planting.
Tulip bulbs—pale yellow and soft cream. Miranda’s favorite. The same kind she used to plant along the porch every spring.
Then Sandra reached into her bag and pulled out a white envelope, slightly bent at the corners.
“I was just leaving this for your mom,” she said. “Photos of you and Asher. Your dad showed me one you sent him… and Asher’s is from when he scored his first goal.”
Eden couldn’t speak.
“I come here every week,” Sandra continued, her voice trembling. “I bring coffee. I talk to her. I tell her how you’re doing, how school’s going, what Asher learned in science. I clean the stone. I bring fresh flowers. I try to keep her close.”
Eden’s knees gave out. She sat in the grass, not caring about the cold seeping into her jeans.
“I thought you hated her,” she whispered. “I thought you wanted to erase her.”
“No, Eden,” Sandra shook her head. “I made a promise to remember her the way you needed her to be remembered. I never wanted to replace her. I just wanted to carry her forward.”
Then came the truth.
“When I removed her things… it was because she wanted that. She left a letter for your father. He couldn’t bring himself to do it. So I did.”
“What letter?” Eden’s voice cracked.
“Your mom wrote instructions. She wanted her clothes donated. She wanted you and Asher to heal without her ghost lingering in every corner.”
“You carried out her final wish?” Eden asked, stunned.
“I did. I wanted to tell you… but you were hurting so much. I was scared it would feel like one more thing being taken from you.”
Sandra took a shaky breath.
“I made a promise to myself long ago—that if I ever became a stepmother to children who lost their mom, I would love them by honoring the woman who came before me.”
Eden’s eyes burned.
“She was my whole world, Sandra.”
“I know, honey,” Sandra said softly. “Your mom was your beginning. I never wanted to replace that. I just wanted to make sure you still had a home.”
They sat in silence for a long time, the truth settling between them.
Finally, Eden stood. She tucked the envelope of photos beneath the vase and brushed off her jeans.
“I’ll meet you at home?” she asked.
Sandra nodded.
“I’ll stop by the store first. I’ll get everything you like for dinner.”
Dinner and a New Beginning
When Eden walked into the house, Asher nearly tackled her with a hug.
“Eden! You didn’t tell me you were coming!”
“Wanted it to be a surprise,” she laughed, holding him tight.
“Are you crying?” he asked, pulling back.
“A little.”
“Did something happen?”
Eden looked at him—really looked—and for the first time in years, she didn’t feel like she was carrying the weight alone.
“No,” she said, smiling. “Everything’s just fine.”
That evening, the house smelled like rosemary and garlic. Sandra pulled a roast from the oven. Asher set the table with mismatched plates—and, for some reason, Christmas napkins.
“Are we seriously using these in March?” Eden asked, raising an eyebrow.
“It’s your welcome-home dinner,” Asher grinned. “Go big or go home.”
Her father brought over golden roasted potatoes.
“She made the pie too,” he said, nodding to the counter.
Pecan pie. Eden’s favorite.
“Thanks,” she said.
She wasn’t sure who she was saying it to. Sandra, maybe. Or all of them.
Sandra didn’t speak. But she met Eden’s eyes—and smiled.
And for the first time in a long time, Eden didn’t feel like she was visiting someone else’s life.
She felt like she was home.