I always thought my grumpy neighbor, Mr. Sloan, was out to ruin my life. But when he dumped dirt on my roses, I had no idea he was setting a trap that would change everything.I loved my mornings, my garden, and the peaceful suburban life. As a florist, my rose bushes were in high demand for weddings, especially that summer. Then, one morning, I found a mountain of dirt in my flower bed. The culprit? Mr. Sloan, of course.

I was furious, but when I asked around, I learned that he had passed away the night before. Mrs. Pearson, my neighbor, said it was a heart attack.Then, a lawyer showed up. “Mr. Sloan’s will requires your presence,” he said. Apparently, Sloan had left me his house — under one condition. I had to take in an elderly woman, Rose, and care for her as long as she wanted. If I refused, I’d lose the house.

I had no choice. My current rental was draining me, and with Mr. Sloan’s beautiful garden, I could finally turn things around. Rose was kind, and I convinced myself everything would be fine.But soon, the little requests started: steamed broccoli, peeled tomatoes, endless errands. The tipping point came when I found an old photo of a baby in Mr. Sloan’s garage. The baby looked… like me.

Rose’s cryptic smile confirmed it. The baby in the photo was me. She revealed the shocking truth: she was my biological mother. I had been adopted, given up by her and Mr. Sloan years ago. He had searched for me for years, but his pride kept him from reaching out.Rose had been tasked with taking care of me in his absence, and she handed me a letter from my father. It was full of regret, love, and apologies.Tears fell as I read it, the weight of all the years of silence and misunderstanding finally breaking through. Rose and I had wasted so many years apart. But now, we would try to rebuild our bond.The roses outside, battered by the storm, remained unbroken — just like us.