Wilted, Not Broken - An Interlude

What if life’s most significant changes were just new seasons waiting to bloom?

Meet Val—a woman at a crossroads, a lifelong nurturer learning to tend to herself for the first time. My ongoing fiction series follows her journey of reinvention, renewal, and the wisdom of growing through change.

Like a well-loved garden, her story unfolds—one season at a time.

The heat clung to Val like an old, stubborn blanket. She stood on her tiny apartment balcony, staring at the potted basil. Just yesterday, it had been lush and fragrant. Today, its leaves drooped, curling inward like a secret it didn’t want to share.

She knelt beside it, pressing a finger into the soil.

Damp.

Not thirsty, then. The heat had been too much.

A sigh escaped her lips. I know the feeling.

It had been several years since she walked away from nursing, a career that had shaped her, rooted her, and given her purpose. At first, she had relished the freedom. But lately, she felt like this basil—once thriving, now struggling to find balance in unfamiliar conditions.

She remembered something Raven had told her on their last visit. “Broad leaves lose more water in the heat. Mist them, and they’ll recover by morning.”

She reached for her hose, setting the nozzle to mist. A fine spray settled over the leaves, cool and shimmering in the late afternoon sun.

Gardening had always been like that—paying attention, making minor adjustments, knowing when to nurture and when to step back.

Maybe she needed the same for herself. Not uproot, not start over, but enrich the soil she’d planted herself in. Give herself time to recover.

The next morning, Val stepped onto the balcony. The basil had perked up, its leaves no longer curled inward but open, reaching. It had weathered the stress and come back stronger.

She ran a hand along the edge of the pot, a new thought forming. Maybe she wasn’t wilting. Perhaps this was a season of renewal.

She smiled, picking a leaf and rolling it between her fingers, inhaling its rich scent. It was wilted, not broken—just like her.