The Flower That Grew from Ashes novel Chapter 174

This installation caused a massive sensation on the opening day of the exhibition.

Scores of people stopped in their tracks, lingering in front of the piece for a long time.

The curator, Isabelle—a French woman renowned for her impeccable taste and sharp tongue—even made special mention of it during her opening remarks.

Standing under the spotlight, facing hundreds of media personnel and art critics from all over the world, she spoke with slow, elegant French.

"If you were to ask me what truly defines magnificent floral art..."

"I would direct you to Booth Three, to view the work of Ms. Sargent, our brilliant young designer."

"Specifically, the installation titled 'Mother's Garden.'"

Isabelle's gaze cut through the crowd, landing precisely on Annelise where she stood in the corner.

"It is far more than just floristry."

"It is a letter home."

"A letter written to heaven, traversing twenty-five years of time and eight thousand kilometers of distance."

As Isabelle's words settled over the room, a wave of restrained yet deeply heartfelt applause erupted.

Several women viewing 'Mother's Garden' couldn't help but let tears slip down their faces as they stared at it.

It wasn't because the technique was incredibly masterful.

It was because the raw emotion it carried was so unbearably authentic that it made it hard to breathe.

On the second afternoon of the exhibition, Annelise was at her booth being interviewed by a local French art magazine.

Right then, an elegant French woman with silver hair, wearing a chic beige trench coat and leaning on a beautifully carved wooden cane, slowly approached her.

The older woman didn't speak.

Seeing the young woman's face go entirely blank with shock, the older lady's eyes began to water.

In slightly broken English with a heavy French accent, she softly said, "Twenty-five years ago, I lived in the 7th arrondissement of Paris. Downstairs from my apartment, a young woman opened a flower shop. The floral arrangements she made were the most beautiful things I had ever seen. Then, one day, she suddenly closed the shop and went back to her hometown. I have always felt such a deep sense of regret."

The lady's gaze thoroughly and delicately traced the features of Annelise's face. "You look exactly like her."

Annelise took the thin business card, though it felt as heavy as a mountain in her hand. Her thumb lightly grazed over the elegant characters of her mother's name.

She looked up at the stranger standing before her, feeling as if her throat had been completely blocked by an invisible weight.

She opened her mouth, taking immense effort to force out a sound.

"She was my mother."

In that instant, the old lady's tears broke free and spilled over without warning.