The Cottage on the Hill
Driven by some mix of curiosity and quiet grief, I found myself standing in front of that address later the same afternoon. It led me to a small cottage tucked at the edge of a hill, surrounded by wildflowers that had clearly been left to grow however they pleased. When I opened the door with the key from the envelope, the familiar scent of lavender drifted out to meet me — my mother’s favorite, the smell that had lived in every room she’d ever occupied.
On the table inside sat a handwritten letter. In it, she’d written that while plenty of people had shown interest in her money over the years, I was the one who had always cared for her. She told me this cottage had been her real treasure — the one place she’d ever found genuine peace — and that she hoped it might become the start of something new for me too. At the very end of the letter, one last line: Look in the garden.
