When the Wildflowers Speak

PROLOGUE

The cottage sat nestled at the edge of Meadow brook, its weathered

stones cradled by a riot of wildflowers that danced in the summer

breeze. The garden seemed alive, its vibrant colors whispering

secrets to anyone who paused long enough to listen. Claire Harper

stood on the gravel path, her fingers curling around the strap of her

suitcase. The scent of lavender and honeysuckle wafted through

the air, mingling with the faint rustle of leaves and the distant hum

of bees.