A Garden of Consequences

When I returned from a quiet weekend retreat with Marcus, I never expected the sight that greeted me at home. I’d been looking forward to a peaceful afternoon—maybe a cup of tea on the porch and a little time with Zoe in our garden. Instead, I found our backyard transformed into a scene from a kitschy lawn ornament catalog. My heart pounded as I took in row after row of gaudy, plastic flamingos, neon wind spinners, and other clashing trinkets where my daughter’s beloved flowerbed used to be.

I dropped my bag on the doorstep and rushed inside, trying to keep my shock from boiling over into anger. I knew exactly who was responsible. My mother-in-law, Geraldine, had been entrusted with watching over our home (and even our little dog, Pippin) while we were away. And now, it seemed, she had taken it upon herself to “fix” something that wasn’t broken at all.

I had always known that Geraldine had strong opinions about how things should be done. Ever since Marcus and I married, her disapproving comments had been a low hum in our everyday lives. “This isn’t the way things are done, dear,” she would say in her crisp tone, or make a dismissive gesture when Zoe’s little projects took shape. I’d tried to be diplomatic, always smoothing over the tension so that our family could get along. But this—this felt personal.

I made my way to the living room where Marcus was reading the newspaper. His eyes lifted as I stormed in, and for a moment, I saw the worry in his gaze. “Alice? What’s wrong?” he asked softly.

I couldn’t keep the tremor out of my voice. “Marcus, look outside. Look at our garden!” I practically shouted, my hands shaking with a mixture of anger and disbelief.