The garden we never planted Olivia Mendez The garden we never planTed Olivia Mendez An Ovi eBooks Publication 2024 Ovi eBookpublications - all material is copyright of the Ovi eBooks publications & the writer C Ovi ebooks are available in Ovi/Ovi eBookshelves pages and they are for free. if somebody tries to sell you an Ovi book please contact us immediately. For details, contact: ovimagazine@yahoo.com no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior permission of the writer or the above publisher of this book The garden we never planted The garden we never planted Olivia Mendez Olivia Mendez An Ovi eBooks Publication 2024 Ovi eBookpublications - all material is copyright of the Ovi eBooks publications & the writer C The garden we never planted H elen sat on the porch swing of her grand- mother’s house, the warm summer breeze carrying the scent of lilacs from the garden. Tom sat beside her, his hand wrapped around hers as if anchoring her to the moment. They were both sev- enteen, their whole lives stretched out before them like the stars they often counted together. “I’ve been thinking about the garden again,” Helen said, her voice soft. “Roses along the fence, wildflow- ers for the bees, and a small patch for vegetables.” Tom grinned, squeezing her hand. “And a swing set for the kids. Remember? A boy and a girl. Thom- as Jr. and... whatever name you like.” Olivia Mendez She laughed. “Whatever name I like? You’re giving me free rein on one of the kids?” “You can name them both if you want. Just as long as I get to build the swing set.” The words felt like a vow, the kind of promise that seemed unbreakable when you were young and in love. But promises, Helen would learn, were not al- ways kept. The day Tom told Helen about the job in New York, the excitement in his voice was palpable. “It’s a foot in the door, Helen. The kind of opportu- nity you don’t just get in this town. If I work hard, we could have everything we talked about—our house, the garden, the swing set. It’s all possible now.” Helen’s heart ached even as she tried to smile. “But... New York is so far. What about us?” Tom cupped her face in his hands, his eyes earnest. “Nothing will change, I swear. I’ll call you every night. Write letters. Once I’ve saved enough and established myself, you’ll come to New York. We’ll make it work.” Tears brimmed in her eyes, but she nodded, trust- ing him. “I’ll wait for you.” The garden we never planted The train station was crowded, the air thick with the sound of announcements and the bustle of trav- elers. Helen clung to Tom, trying to memorize every- thing about him, the feel of his arms around her, the scent of his cologne, the way his voice sounded when he whispered, “I love you.” “I’ll call as soon as I get there,” he promised, brush- ing a tear from her cheek. “This isn’t goodbye, Helen. It’s just... see you later.” She watched the train pull away, her hand raised in a wave until it disappeared into the distance. For weeks afterward, Helen lived for his calls. Her heart leaped every time the phone rang, her nights filled with the sound of his voice recounting his first days in the city. But as the weeks turned into months, the calls grew less frequent. “Maybe he’s just busy,” her grandmother suggest- ed one evening as they sat at the dinner table. Helen picked at her food, her appetite dulled by the ache in her chest. “He promised he’d call every night,” Helen mur- mured, her voice barely audible. “But now... it’s like he’s slipping away.” Olivia Mendez Her grandmother reached across the table, her weathered hand resting on Helen’s. “Sometimes, peo- ple lose themselves in the excitement of a new place. But if he truly loves you, he’ll come back.” Helen nodded, though doubt had already begun to creep into her heart. The day Helen realized something was truly wrong, the phone number Tom had given her was discon- nected. Panic surged through her as she dialed again and again, only to hear the same automated message. She tried writing letters, but they went unanswered. Desperate, she turned to mutual friends, hoping someone had heard from him. It was six months later, at a coffee shop with her friend Lisa, that Helen learned the truth. “Tom got married?” Helen’s voice cracked as she repeated the words, her hands trembling around her cup. Lisa hesitated, guilt written across her face. “I didn’t know how to tell you. He met someone at his office. It all happened so fast.” Helen felt the world tilt beneath her. The coffee in her cup rippled as if reflecting the storm brewing in- The garden we never planted side her. “He didn’t even have the decency to tell me himself?” she whispered, tears streaming down her face. “After everything we planned? Everything we...” She couldn’t finish the sentence. Lisa reached out, but Helen recoiled, her pain too raw to accept comfort. “I need to go,” she said, grab- bing her coat and rushing out of the café. The days that followed were a blur. Helen threw herself into work at the mall, taking extra shifts to keep her mind occupied. She moved into her grand- mother’s house permanently, the older woman be- coming her anchor in the storm of her heartbreak. But no matter how hard she tried, the memories lingered. She would see a young couple holding hands and feel a pang of longing. A song on the ra- dio would transport her back to lazy afternoons with Tom. And at night, when the world was quiet, she would lie awake, staring at the ceiling, haunted by dreams of the life they were supposed to build to- gether. One evening, as Helen helped her grandmother plant flowers in the garden, she paused, her hands buried in the soil. “Do you think some promises are meant to be broken?” she asked. Olivia Mendez Her grandmother looked up, her eyes filled with wisdom and sadness. “Some promises aren’t bro- ken, Helen. They’re just... abandoned by people who don’t have the strength to keep them.” Helen nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. She decided then that she would stop waiting for Tom. But even as she made that vow, a part of her heart remained tethered to the boy she once loved, the boy who had promised her a garden filled with roses and wildflowers. As the summer turned to autumn, Helen resolved to let go of the past. Yet, deep down, she knew that some scars never truly fade. The garden we never planted II. The phone’s shrill ring cut through the quiet of the evening, startling Helen as she scrubbed dishes in the kitchen. She dried her hands on a worn towel and crossed to the phone, her grandmother’s familiar hum of a television show in the background. “Hello?” she answered, expecting a neighbor or a telemarketer. “Hi, Helen.” The voice hit her like a freight train, a sound so familiar and yet impossibly out of place. Her breath caught, the dish towel slipping from her fingers. “Tom?” Olivia Mendez “It’s been a while,” he said, his tone casual, as though six years and countless broken promises hadn’t passed. Helen struggled to find her voice. “It has. What... what do you want?” “I’m in town for a couple of days. Visiting my par- ents,” he said. “I thought... maybe we could catch up? Dinner, just the two of us. You know, like old times.” She hesitated, the air in the room suddenly thick. “Why now, Tom?” A pause. “Because I’ve been thinking about you. A lot. I just want to see you, Helen. Please.” Against her better judgment, she agreed. The restaurant was small but upscale, a far cry from the burger joints they used to frequent as teen- agers. Helen walked in, her hands trembling slightly as she clutched her purse. Tom was already seated, and when he saw her, he stood, flashing the smile that had once made her feel invincible. “Helen,” he said, his voice warm. He moved to pull out her chair, and she let him, though she felt her guard rising. The garden we never planted “Hi, Tom,” she replied, sitting stiffly. He had changed. Gone was the gangly boy she had known; in his place was a man with a tailored suit and an air of confidence that bordered on arrogance. His hair was neatly styled, his watch gleaming in the dim light of the restaurant. “You look amazing,” he said, his eyes scanning her face. “Thanks,” she said, her voice clipped. “You look... different.” Tom chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “I suppose New York does that to you. Big city, big changes.” Helen raised an eyebrow. “So, New York has been good to you, then?” “Good doesn’t even cover it,” he said, launching into a tale of his career. He talked about his high-powered job, his sleek apartment, the connections he’d made. It all sounded like something out of a movie, but Hel- en couldn’t ignore the emptiness creeping into her chest as she listened. “What about you?” he asked finally, as the waiter brought their drinks. Olivia Mendez “I still work at the mall,” she said simply. “And I live with my grandmother. She’s getting older, so she needs someone around.” Tom nodded, his expression unreadable. “You al- ways had a big heart.” Helen’s lips tightened. “I guess someone has to.” The dinner wore on, Tom’s stories weaving a pic- ture of a life that seemed worlds away from hers. But then his tone shifted, softening as he leaned closer. “Do you ever think about us?” he asked, his voice low. Helen blinked, caught off guard. “What do you mean?” “Us,” he repeated, his eyes searching hers. “What we had. What we dreamed of. The house, the garden, the kids...” She stiffened. “Those dreams ended when you stopped calling, Tom.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I know. I was young, stupid. I got swept up in every- thing—the job, the city. And then... it was too late to fix things.” The garden we never planted Helen’s jaw tightened. “You mean it was too late because you were already engaged to someone else.” The air between them grew heavy, the din of the restaurant fading into the background. “I made mistakes,” he admitted. “But Helen, I’ve never stopped thinking about you. About us. That’s why I had to see you.” She stared at him, her emotions warring. “Why now, Tom? You have a wife, kids. Why drag all this up?” He reached across the table, his hand brushing hers. “Because I can’t forget you. Because I miss what we had. And because...” He hesitated, his eyes dark- ening. “I want one night. Just one, to remind us both of what we meant to each other.” Helen froze, her breath catching in her throat. “Are you serious?” she whispered, her voice shak- ing. “I know it’s crazy,” he said quickly. “But life is com- plicated, Helen. This—this is simple. One night, no strings, no regrets. Just us.” Olivia Mendez Her mind reeled. “You’re married, Tom.” He nodded, his expression unapologetic. “I am. And I love my family. But this is different. This is about us. Don’t you ever miss it?” Helen pushed her chair back abruptly, her hands trembling as she stood. “I need a moment.” In the restroom, Helen gripped the sink, staring at her reflection in the mirror. Her face was pale, her eyes wide with shock. She felt a storm raging inside her, anger, sadness, confusion, and a flicker of some- thing she hated to admit: longing. “What are you doing, Helen?” she whispered to herself. She thought of the promises they’d made, the dreams they’d shared, the pain of his betrayal. And now, after all these years, he had the audacity to ask for... what? Closure? A night of passion to soothe his guilt? When she returned to the table, Tom was waiting, his expression unreadable. “I can’t believe you,” she said, her voice shaking with restrained anger. “You left me. You broke every The garden we never planted promise you made. And now you think you can just walk back into my life and ask for...” She couldn’t fin- ish the sentence. Tom leaned forward, his gaze intense. “I’m not ask- ing for forgiveness, Helen. I just want... one night to remember what we had.” She shook her head, tears welling in her eyes. “What we had? You mean the life you threw away without a second thought?” He flinched, but didn’t back down. “I know I don’t deserve it. But I had to try.” Helen stood, her fists clenched. “You’re right about one thing, Tom. You don’t deserve it. And I deserve better than this.” Without another word, she grabbed her purse and walked out, leaving him sitting alone at the table. As she stepped into the cool night air, a weight lifted from her chest. For the first time in years, she felt a glimmer of strength—a reminder that she didn’t need Tom, or his apologies, or his empty promises. And as she walked away, the tears that fell were not for what she had lost, but for the part of herself she was finally reclaiming. Olivia Mendez III. Helen drove aimlessly through the quiet streets, the orange glow of streetlights stretching across her windshield like ghostly fingers. Her mind reeled with fragments of the evening: Tom’s polished smile, the casual way he spoke about his life, and the audaci- ty of his request. Memories surged forward unbid- den—the stolen kisses in her grandmother’s back- yard, whispered dreams of their future, the way he’d once held her hand as if she were his whole world. She pulled over near the town’s edge, parking in front of an old park they used to frequent. The place was overgrown now, the benches rusted and the once-vibrant flowerbeds choked with weeds. She sat in her car, staring at the decayed remnants of what had once been their sanctuary. The garden we never planted Her phone buzzed. It was a message from Tom: Meet me tomorrow. Let’s talk, for real this time. Please. Helen stared at the screen, her thumb hovering over the delete button. Against her better judgment, she replied with a single word: Okay. The next day, Helen met Tom at the park. She had chosen the spot deliberately, a quiet corner where the trees formed a canopy and the air carried the faint scent of lavender from the wild bushes nearby. It was the place where they’d once dreamed of building their future. When Tom arrived, he seemed momentarily taken aback. His sharp suit from the night before had been replaced by a casual sweater and jeans, but he still looked out of place against the rustic backdrop. “You remembered this place,” he said, his voice softer than it had been at dinner. “I never forgot it,” Helen replied. They sat on a weathered bench, the silence between them stretching taut. Finally, Helen broke it. “Why did you really come back, Tom?” Olivia Mendez He hesitated, running a hand through his hair. “I told you, I wanted to see you. To...” “To what?” Helen cut in, her voice laced with bit- terness. “To stir up old memories? To soothe your ego? Or was it just for the thrill of sneaking around behind your wife’s back?” Tom flinched but recovered quickly. “It’s not like that, Helen. I’ve thought about you every day since I left.” Her laugh was sharp and hollow. “Funny how those thoughts didn’t stop you from marrying some- one else.” “I was young,” he said defensively. “I didn’t know what I was doing. But you...you were everything to me. You still are.” Helen stood, pacing a few steps away. The words she had kept bottled up for six years burst forth like a dam breaking. “You don’t get to say that, Tom. You don’t get to waltz back into my life and act like I’m some chapter you can revisit whenever it suits you. Do you know what it was like for me? Waiting for your calls, hear- ing nothing? Finding out from friends that you were