The chaos started with a single phone call on a quiet morning, right when I finally felt life opening up. For fifteen years, my flower shop, Bloom & Blossom, had been everything—early mornings, weddings that stretched past midnight, holidays spent arranging centerpieces for strangers’ celebrations. Selling it wasn’t easy, but I knew it was time. I craved space, freedom, maybe even a chance to reinvent myself.
The sale didn’t make me rich, but it gave me breathing room. I sat at my kitchen table, coffee in hand, imagining travel or going back to school, when my sister Lisa called. Her voice said it all before she spoke.
“Ivy… can I come over? Please.”
Twenty minutes later, she was in my kitchen, gripping a mug she didn’t drink, hair messy, nails chipped from nervous picking. She didn’t bother with small talk.
“We’re losing the house.”
She explained everything—Rick’s collapsing construction business, growing debt, and the mortgage company breathing down their necks. Money from his parents hadn’t been enough.
“How much do you need?” I asked. I’ve always been the steady one, the fixer.
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