Chapter 1 — Cracks in the Foundation
Ellie
The drip of water was faint, a rhythmic sound that could almost be mistaken for the ticking of a distant clock. It came from somewhere beneath the kitchen sink, hidden behind the glossy cabinetry that Greg had insisted on during the last remodel. Ellie stood motionless in the doorway, her arms folded. She had spent the better part of the morning wiping down the counters and aligning the spice jars to perfection—an act of habit, more than necessity. Yet that sound, the persistent, steady drip, seemed to mock her efforts, like a quiet reminder of the small fractures no one else could see.
She crouched down, tugging the cabinet doors open with a quiet creak. The faint smell of damp wood greeted her, mingling with the lemony aroma of the all-purpose cleaner she’d used earlier. There it was: a thin, silvery trail of water snaking its way along the edge of a pipe, pooling into a tiny lake at the bottom of the cupboard. Ellie sighed, pulling back slightly to avoid pressing her knees into the cool tile. It wasn’t the first time she’d noticed the leak and certainly not the first time something in the house had needed attention.
“Greg,” she called, her voice soft but carrying a tinge of reluctance, the kind that had become second nature. She knew how this would go.
His response came from the office upstairs, muffled and impatient. “What is it now, Ellie? I’m in the middle of something.”
Ellie pressed her lips together, the warmth in her hazel eyes dimming slightly. She closed the cabinet doors with deliberate care, as though gentleness might steady her against the rising tension. The tapping of Greg’s keyboard grew louder as she ascended the stairs, each step feeling like a negotiation with herself. At the top of the landing, she paused, the faint hum of Greg’s focused energy trickling through the doorway. She allowed herself a brief memory—the man Greg used to be: attentive, warm, the kind of partner who had once helped her rearrange their first garden bed, laughing as dirt smudged his pristine shirt. It felt like a lifetime ago.
She took a breath before stepping into the office. “There’s a leak under the kitchen sink,” she began, her tone tentative. “It’s not much, but it’s been there a while. I think it could get worse if we don’t—”
“For God’s sake.” Greg spun his chair around, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You think we don’t already have enough expenses this month? The car insurance just went up, and there’s the HOA fee. The sink can wait.”
Ellie blinked, willing herself not to shrink. “I’m not saying we need an overhaul. Just someone to take a look. Maybe it’s something simple.”
“Call a plumber if it bothers you so much,” he said, already turning back to his monitor. “But don’t expect me to drop everything for it.”
For a moment, Ellie lingered, searching his profile for the man she had fallen in love with, the one who used to joke that her happiness mattered more than spreadsheets or deadlines. But the Greg in front of her now didn’t even register her hesitation. “Right,” she murmured, retreating before the conversation could descend into one of his familiar lectures on practicality.
By the time she reached the kitchen again, her hands were trembling, and she wasn’t sure if it was anger or something else entirely. She paused, gripping the edge of the countertop, and exhaled slowly. The sink wasn’t just a sink, of course. The leak wasn’t just a leak. The house, with its meticulously arranged furniture and gleaming surfaces, was a shrine to Greg’s vision of their life—a vision in which Ellie’s voice had slowly faded into the background noise. The leak was a reminder, however small, of how things fell apart when no one cared enough to tend to them.
Her gaze flickered to the window above the sink. Beyond the neatly trimmed hedges and the white picket fence, the edge of her backyard came into view. Overgrown grass brushed against the base of a long-forgotten structure—the greenhouse. Its ivy-covered frame stood at the far corner of the yard, a silent monument to dreams deferred.
Ellie’s chest tightened. She’d dreamed of endless afternoons planting flowers there, teaching herself to grow tomatoes and herbs while sunlight filtered through spotless glass panes. She could still hear her own voice from years ago, bright with hope, imagining the greenhouse as a haven for creativity. Somewhere along the way, she’d stopped imagining anything at all. Greg had dismissed it as impractical, an “eyesore,” and after a while, she’d stopped arguing.
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By afternoon, the house was still. Greg had left for a late meeting, the faint scent of his cologne lingering like an afterthought. Ellie sat at the kitchen table, staring at the list of plumbers she had scribbled onto a notepad. The names blurred together, none standing out as particularly promising. She tapped the pen absently against the edge of the pad, trying to summon the energy to make the call. This was such a small thing, she told herself—a phone call, nothing more. And yet it felt like stepping off a ledge.
What if Greg was right? What if it wasn’t worth the trouble? What if the plumber mocked her for calling over something so trivial? Her fingers tightened around the pen, her pulse quickening.
But another thought flickered, quiet but insistent: If you don’t take care of this, who will?
Finally, she dialed a number, the voice on the other end brisk but polite. After setting the appointment, Ellie hung up and leaned back in her chair, her heart racing. It was ridiculous, really—this small act of independence shouldn’t have felt so monumental. But it did.
Her gaze wandered back to the window. The late spring sunlight filtered through the curtains in pale, golden streaks, illuminating the glass in a way that caught her attention. The greenhouse stood just beyond the hedges, its ivy-covered walls shimmering faintly in the light. For a moment, it seemed to beckon her. The ache in her chest stirred again, sharper this time.
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Later, after finishing her chores, Ellie lingered by the back door. She adjusted a throw pillow, smoothed the hem of her cardigan, and glanced at the refrigerator calendar. Greg’s schedule stared back at her, rigid and full, while her lone note—“Gardening Club Meeting – Thursday”—looked like it belonged to someone else entirely. She hadn’t attended in months. She hadn’t been that version of herself in so long, the version who planted lavender just because it smelled lovely, who stayed up late sketching plans for her dream garden.
The warm breeze that greeted her as she stepped outside smelled faintly of grass and lilacs. Her feet moved almost of their own accord, carrying her toward the greenhouse. She hesitated, her hand hovering over the weathered metal handle. A thousand reasons to retreat rushed through her mind: the mess, Greg’s disapproval, the fear of facing what she’d left behind. But then the sunlight caught on the glass again, scattering fractured rainbows across the ivy. Something inside her whispered: Just look.
Ellie twisted the handle, and the door creaked open. The smell hit her first—earthy, raw, tinged with decay. Inside, the light filtered through the ivy-covered glass, casting shifting patterns on the dirt-streaked floor. Shards of broken pots lay scattered among the debris, while vines climbed the rusted beams like veins, threading their way toward forgotten life.
Her breath caught. She knelt, brushing her fingers against the cool surface of a cracked planter. The soil beneath her fingertips was dry and crumbly, but it held promise. Her heart ached with an odd mixture of sorrow and hope. She stayed like that for a long time, her knees pressing into the dirt, her thoughts weaving through memories of what could have been—and what still might be.
By the time Ellie finally stood, her hands were smudged with soil, and her heart felt lighter than it had in years. The mess around her was overwhelming, but there was something soothing in it too, a quiet reassurance that things could change. She glanced back at the house, now bathed in the soft hues of the setting sun. She wasn’t sure what tomorrow would bring, but for the first time in a long while, she felt ready to face it.
