For Ryan, the rose pot on his windowsill wasn’t just a plant—it was a memorial. He had mixed his late mother’s ashes into the soil, and every May, crimson blooms reminded him of her love. But that fragile connection hattered when his estranged father, Larry, accidentally knocked the pot to the floor.

Ryan hadn’t wanted his father there. Their relationship had never recovered from the grief and abandonment after his mother’s death. Larry’s surprise visit—under the false pretense of being sick—was just another manipulation. And now, the one thing Ryan had left of his mother lay broken in the trash.

Devastated, Ryan confronted his father. The rose, the ashes, the memories—it all came spilling out. Larry was stunned, apologetic, but the damage had been done. Ryan demanded he leave.In the years that followed, Ryan published a novel inspired by his pain and began rebuilding his life. Though the original rose didn’t survive, he planted new ones using what soil he had salvaged. They bloomed beautifully each May.

When Larry died suddenly, Ryan didn’t attend the funeral. Instead, he wrote a letter—unread, but healing—acknowledging the pain, the memories, and the slow path to forgiveness. Standing by his window, watching new roses sway in the rain, he whispered, “I’m working on it, Mom.” And for the first time, he truly meant it.