Page 96 of Stuck with Doctor Grump

I know you’ve been standing at a crossroads. I’ve felt the distance, the weight of all the choices piling up behind your eyes.

I can’t make the decision for you, Damien. And I don’t want to.

But I want you to know—whatever path you choose, whether it curves toward me or somewhere else entirely—you’ve already changed my life. You gave me a home, not just in Cedar Springs, but in myself. You helped me believe I could grow beyond my old limits. That I could stand tall without having to be anyone else.

If you come back—if you choose this messy, beautiful life we’ve started—I’ll be waiting.

And if not, I’ll still be grateful. Always.

Because I found the garden. And that’s because of you.

Yours, Ruby

I stared down at the letter, my heart thudding against my ribs like a caged bird.

The sun dipped lower in the sky, and the wind stirred the lavender near my feet. I folded the letter and tucked it into an envelope, scribbling his name across the front like a prayer.

The journal stayed open, the rest of the page blank. But for the first time in days, my chest didn’t feel hollow. The ache was still there—but now, it was wrapped in something soft and steady.

Hope.

Hazel stepped out again, this time with two mugs of tea. She handed me one and glanced at the envelope in my lap.

“Better?” she asked.

I nodded. “Not fixed. But better.”

She raised her mug in a quiet toast. “That’s all we can ask for most days.”

We sat in silence after that. Not the heavy kind—the peaceful kind. The kind that speaks volumes without a single word.

The letter lay across my palm like a seed.

Now it just needed planting.

The envelope left my hands with a flutter of nerves and a ridiculous amount of hope. Hazel offered to drop it at the postoffice on her way into town, and I gave it up like a mother handing off her firstborn—reluctant, tender, terrified.

The rest of the morning passed in small, jittery movements. I rearranged stems that didn’t need rearranging. I double-checked flower orders I’d already confirmed. I pulled out the travel-size iron and pressed the fabric for the display table at the Hearts in Bloom event, even though it had no creases.

And still, no word.

By late afternoon, I gave up and flopped on the couch, one arm over my eyes, my heart swinging between cautious optimism and bone-deep vulnerability.

Then Hazel walked through the door, holding something in her hand. “He wrote back.”

I sat up so fast I knocked a pillow onto the floor. “What?”

She nodded and handed me a soft, slightly crinkled envelope. My name was scrawled in Damien’s neat, almost-too-formal handwriting. My fingers shook as I broke the seal.

The paper inside was folded precisely, like he’d taken his time. My heart pounded in my ears as I opened it.

Dear Ruby,

I read your letter in a tiny café on the corner of Waverly and Main, just outside the hospital. The coffee was lukewarm. The city traffic groaned like it always does. But none of that mattered because, in that moment, I wasn’t in the city.

I was in your garden. I was beside you on the bench. I was back in the place where my life finally started to feel like mine.

Your words wrecked me, in the best way. I didn’t even realize my hands were trembling until the barista asked if I needed help. I told her no. But the truth is, I do need help—your kind of help.

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