She was about to donate her late husband’s old coat when she found a key and a piece of paper with an address in the pocket. What she found there…

The houses, set apart from each other by extensive gardens, conveyed a sense of tranquility that Martha had forgotten existed. The GPS announced that she had arrived at her destination. Martha parked in front of a two-story house with a wide porch that wrapped all the way around it.

The garden, although slightly neglected, displayed a profusion of flowers, old roses, hydrangeas in shades of blue and purple, and camellias in bud promising an explosion of colors for the spring. A path of natural stones wound between flower beds to the main entrance flanked by small solar lanterns. The house itself looked like something out of a storybook.

Walls of a soft yellow, generous windows with white frames, and a dark wooden front door with stained glass details. On the porch, an old wooden swing moved gently in the breeze. With her heart racing, Martha approached the door.

The key fit perfectly into the lock. As she turned it, she heard the familiar click of a door opening to reveal its secrets. The interior was dimly lit, with beams of light entering through the cracks in the closed curtains.

Martha groped the wall in search of a switch. When the light flooded the room, she had to hold her breath. The living room was spacious and cozy, with wooden floors and a natural stone fireplace on one of the walls.

The furniture was sparse, just a sofa covered with a white sheet, a few chairs, and a coffee table. In the center of the solid oak dining table, a bouquet of flowers now dried and rested in a crystal vase. Beside it, a brown envelope with the letterhead of a local real estate agency.

Martha opened it with trembling fingers. Inside, she found the house deed, registered in the name of Roger Sullivan, dated three weeks before his death. Alongside it was a handwritten note.

Dear Mr. Sullivan, as requested, the flowers have been placed on the table for the surprise reveal to your wife. The keys are with you, and the house is ready to be occupied. We appreciate your trust, and wish you much happiness in your new home.

Martha let herself fall into a nearby chair, tears blurring her vision. This was the surprise. The house was the garden they had always dreamed of for retirement, away from the noise and hustle of the city, yet close enough to visit their grandchildren regularly.

The place where they planned to grow old together, cultivating flowers and memories. What do I do now, Roger? she whispered to the emptiness. How can I live here without you? As if in response, a ray of sunlight streamed through the window, illuminating a small photo album on the mantelpiece that she hadn’t noticed before…