Gemotions

She had poured her soul into the garden. Every morning, Beatrice would tend to the roses, whispering encouragements, coaxing the perfect blooms. Her daughter, Maya, barely glanced at the petals. Now, the girl was obsessed, not with beauty, but with destruction. She was pulling flowers, ripping stems, and scattering the soil with a shovel that was far too large for her. Beatrice's breath hitched as she found a perfect hybrid tea rose, its delicate petals torn and bruised, discarded near the bird bath. Her hands started to tremble, a cold sweat breaking out on her forehead as she watched Maya triumphantly display a handful of the ruined flowers.