PART 1
I allowed my sister-in-law to use the lake house my late grandmother had left me after the venue for her wedding flooded two days before the ceremony. I asked for only three things: don’t touch Grandma’s garden, don’t damage the house, and take every piece of trash when the celebration ended. Kelsey promised. To me, those rules weren’t about controlling anyone. The house was the last place where Grandma’s presence still felt tangible, and the garden meant more than anything.
The following morning, I discovered she had ignored every one of them.
My grandmother Penny treated her garden like a family album. The peonies represented the year I was born. Lavender lined the walkway because she planted it after recovering from surgery. Roses beside the porch marked her anniversary, and white daisies appeared after my first school recital. When Grandma died, she left me the lake house with a note: “Keep it lived in.”
I repaired whatever broke while protecting the garden. My husband Zac understood what it meant to me. His sister Kelsey didn’t.
Two days before her wedding, Kelsey showed up in a panic. A burst pipe had ruined the restaurant reserved for her reception, and every nearby venue was unavailable. Then she opened her wedding binder to a picture of my lake house.
“We’ll have it there.”
I initially refused, but she pleaded with me, reminding us that guests were already traveling. Eventually, I agreed.
But I clearly laid out the rules.
“No cutting flowers. No heavy furniture on the soft lawn. Nothing inside gets damaged or moved. And every piece of trash leaves with you.”
“Of course,” she said.
On the morning of the wedding, my aunt suddenly collapsed. Zac and I hurried to the hospital and missed the ceremony. Before we went inside, I called Kelsey.
“The rules still apply.”
“Yes, Nadia. I remember the sacred flowers.”
My aunt stabilized late that evening. We returned to the lake house the next morning. A handmade cushion was soaked beside the driveway. Cups littered the lawn, bottles were scattered near the dock, and deep tracks ran across the grass.
Then I noticed the wedding arch.
It was decorated with Grandma’s flowers.
The anniversary roses had been cut down. Lavender had been pulled from the ground. The daisies were tied with ribbon. The peonies had been completely uprooted.
Inside, wine had stained the cushions and her rocking chair was damaged.
