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It started slowly as all love stories do.

It started with one lone man working long hours on a small garden in a corner of what had been a construction site. Day by day, he toiled slowly and painfully. His long curly ponytail fell over one shoulder as he worked and he rarely looked up as people strolled by.

Silence is what he craved and silence is what he received. Everyone seemed afraid to talk to him and he was relieved. He didn’t want to talk about her.

His Jenni.

His loca.

His heart and his love.

So he toiled on the memorial garden, the last thing he could give her.

True love comes slowly, they say.

In Jenni’s case it had hit him so hard he had never seen it coming. Just one day it was there and it was good. He had relished every moment with her. In his mind’s eye he could see her laughing until she fell over in a heap or dancing with wild abandon to some horrible song. Then t

here were the quiet times when she lay in his arms and her smile made this life beautiful and good.

Now she was gone and he could find no beauty around him. Everything was gray and dark.

So he was planting flowers for her. Something beautiful to remind him of her beauty.

When he had started his little endeavor, Charlotte’s strict rules ringing in his ears, he had felt he would never love again.

He was wrong.

Working hard one morning, a shadow fell over him. He did not look up.

Most of the time he was working with tears in his eyes and he did not want to reveal them to anyone. This time was no different. He did not look up.

“Whatcha doing?”

“Planting a memorial garden. ”

Standard reply. Standard neutral voice.

“What does that mean?”

The voice was tiny. Female.

“It’s for those who died. To remember them. ”

“Oh. ” A long pause. Then, “My Mommy and Daddy died. ”

Hesitating, he looked up slowly.

A blond girl around eight or nine years old stood above him. Her long blond hair trailed around her face and her eyes were so dark and vivid, they reminded him of Jenni. Holding tight to the girl’s t-shirt was a little boy around four or five and another girl maybe around six. The little boy had masses of dark hair and big chestnut brown eyes. The second girl was blond with clear blue eyes.

It was the three children Jenni had given her life for.

Juan had been avoiding them for weeks now. He had seen them wandering through the fort, always looking a bit lost, three little waifs.

Peggy tried hard to take care of them, but the three children did not speak to her or anyone else. The oldest occasionally would ask a question, but mostly they drifted through the fort like tiny ghosts.

Juan didn’t know what to say. At times, he could barely stand to look at the three children. He almost hated them. They were alive because Jenni had died.

The little boy leaned down and began to gently run his fingers through the earth at the base of the freshly planted violets.