The End of an Era I had spent decades tending the sprawling estate—its manicured lawns, fragrant flower beds, and secret garden corners.
My name is Arthur, and I have been the gardener here ever since I first set foot on these grounds. I knew every leaf, every petal, every hidden nook of this place.
The estate was my life; its history was etched in every furrow I dug and every bloom I coaxed from the soil. For years, I had worked under the gentle guidance of Mr.
Jared—my employer, mentor, and dear friend. Jared wasn’t just the owner of this estate; he was the heart and soul of the property.
Together, we had nurtured the gardens, shared quiet conversations between the rows of roses, and found solace in the simple, steady rhythms of nature. Jared once told me, “Arthur, these grounds will remember you long after I’m gone.
They carry our secrets, our joys, our sorrows. ” I took his words to heart.
But times change. Recently, our world turned upside down when Jared passed away unexpectedly.
The loss hit me hard—Jared wasn’t just my boss; he was family. And now, as fate would have it, the spoiled heir of the estate—Stuart, Jared’s estranged and arrogant son—had finally decided to return.
He came with a haughty air and an ultimatum: I was to be fired, and on my very last day, everything that I had poured my soul into would be swept away. I remember that day vividly.
It was a cool autumn morning when Stuart strode up to the east garden. The leaves had just started to turn, and the air was crisp with the promise of winter.
I knelt among the beds of tulips and daffodils, my calloused hands deep in the cool soil, planting spring bulbs that symbolized both renewal and the painful cycle of life. From behind the modest staff quarters, Margaret—one of the kitchen staff who had worked here for years—rushed over.
Her face was flushed with worry. “Arthur, have you heard?
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