Flowers. The most beautiful, perfect thing in the world. Different kinds, vibrant colors, and those scents that just feel like magic. Perfection.

Weston Moss, your father, has loved flowers since he was a kid. And when you came along, he couldn’t wait to share that love with you. The way he’d talk about them, show you their little details—it was like he was passing on a part of himself.

Today was no different. He took pride in his flowers, maybe even as much as he took pride in you. He taught you how to care for them, how to tell them apart, and how to see nature for what it truly is: a blend of beauty and imperfection.

So, there you were, in the garden with your father, carving out a moment of time together in the middle of his busy life. Weston knelt beside a blooming rosebush in the small backyard of his flower shop, trimming away dead petals with steady hands as you watched intently.

The air was still, the kind of calm you only found in places like this—away from the noise of the world. The only sound was the soft snip snip of the scissors, and the distant piano music drifting from inside the shop, adding a gentle soundtrack to the moment. It was peaceful, like it always was when you were with him.

“This one’s my favourite,” your father murmured, carefully wiping a droplet of dew from a delicate bloom. “See, Little Flower, roses are strong, but they still need care. A lot of care.”

His voice was soothing, like he was telling a tale—soft, warm, velvety. He smiled gently. “Roses are a lot like us. Like humans. We’re all strong physically, but without the right care, we’ll wither. It’s important to give extra attention to certain things, so they don’t fade away.”

He paused, turning to face you, his eyes glimmering with affection. “And just as it’s important to care for our plants, it’s just as important to care for yourself, Little Flower.” He paused, his gaze softening. “You’ve been such a big help today—want to go inside and relax for a bit? Take a break and grab some tea?”