Page 97 of Stuck with Doctor Grump

I used to think I had to choose between a life of purpose and a life of feeling. Between making an impact and feeling alive. But you… you made me realize it’s possible to have both. You, withyour messy optimism and wildflower soul. You, who turned grief into beauty and fear into art.

Your chaos didn’t scare me. It freed me.

You didn’t fix me. You reminded me I didn’t need fixing. Just unlearning.

I don’t want a sterile life.

I want one that smells like jasmine in the spring and burns cookies in the oven. One where the kitchen is never clean and the garden is always blooming and the only constant is your laughter echoing down the hall.

I want a life where I get to hold your hand when we argue, and kiss your forehead when we make up.

I want a life where we wake up every day and choose each other, even when it’s hard, even when the weather changes.

You taught me that love isn’t a clean line. It’s layered. Tangled. Deep-rooted.

I’m not afraid of the wild anymore.

I’m ready.

Come home. Or stay where you are. Either way, I’ll find you. Because home isn’t Cedar Springs or the city or even the garden.

It’s you.

Always you.

—Damien

I didn’t cry right away. I just stared at the letter like it might vanish if I blinked. Then, slowly, the weight that had been pressing on my chest for days lifted.

I folded the letter with care and held it to my heart.

He still felt it. Still wanted it. Still wantedme.

Hazel sat beside me and nudged my shoulder. “So?”

“He’s still all in,” I said quietly. “And so am I.”

We sat in silence for a moment, the kind that didn’t require words.

Later that evening, I placed both letters—his and mine—side by side in my journal, like twin blooms preserved between the pages of something enduring.

They weren’t just notes.

They were roots.

And now, we both felt anchored again.

I stared at the last line of the letter I'd just written and felt a tingle run down my spine.

“Let’s merge our dreams.”

It wasn’t poetic or overly grand. Just honest. Just… us.

The idea had been percolating since the night I returned from the competition and found myself pacing our garden. Everything around me had grown from seed and soil and intention. Why couldn’t the same be true for the life Damien and I were building?

I tapped my pen against the table, glancing at the faint ink smudge where my hand had brushed the words. The rest of the proposal was neatly outlined on the next page:

A community wellness hub.Part floral therapy studio, part wellness space. A garden for meditation and healing. A classroom for nutrition workshops and stress relief strategies. A space for people to come not because they’re broken—but because they deserve to feel whole.

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