The morning sun cast a gentle glow over the little garden at the back of our home on Stonestreet. Dew clung to the petals of the roses I had planted last spring, their soft fragrance mingling with the fresh scent of earth. I knelt beside the flowerbed, my fingers brushing against the cool soil as I pulled a stubborn weed from between the blooms. There was something reassuring about this routine, the simple act of tending to the garden that had become my sanctuary.

The house behind me was modest, a far cry from the grand villas of Verdona's wealthy elite, but it was ours. The white paint on the wooden siding had begun to peel in places, and the roof could use a fresh coat of shingles, but I loved it all the same. This house, nestled in a quiet corner of the city, represented the life I had hoped to build with Alessandro—a life of quiet contentment, far removed from the expectations and pressures of my family.

I stood, brushing the dirt from my hands onto my apron, and looked around at the garden. It wasn't much, just a patch of green in the midst of the city, but it was mine. Each plant, each flower, had been chosen with care, and they grew strong and vibrant under my watchful eye. In a way, the garden was like my art—something I could nurture and shape with my own hands, something that brought me peace in a world that often felt overwhelming.

The sound of the front gate creaking open pulled me from my thoughts. I turned to see Alessandro stepping into the garden, a forced smile tugging at his lips. He was not alone; a well-dressed couple trailed behind him, their eyes sweeping over the house with a mixture of curiosity and polite interest. Alessandro was speaking in his business voice, the one he used when he was trying to impress potential clients. There was a sharpness to it, an eagerness that made my stomach tighten with unease.

"They're interested in the house a couple of streets over," Alessandro said, gesturing grandly to the couple. "They wanted to see what we've done with ours before making a decision. I thought it would be good for them to see the possibilities."

I forced a smile and nodded at the couple, their polite curiosity doing little to ease my unease. "It's a lovely day for a visit," I said, my voice steady but hollow. I glanced at Alessandro, catching the strained smile on his face.

The couple was a middle-aged pair, well-dressed and exuding an air of quiet affluence. The woman's eyes sparkled with interest as she looked around, while the man seemed more reserved, taking in the details with a critical eye. Alessandro guided them through the living room, pointing out the original features and the recent updates we had made.

The woman paused by the large windows, her gaze lingering on the view of the garden. "I love the natural light," she said, her voice warm with appreciation. "It makes the space feel so open and inviting."

Alessandro's face brightened slightly, his enthusiasm momentarily rekindled. "Yes, we've worked hard to maintain that. It's one of the reasons we fell in love with this place."

The man, however, seemed less impressed. He ran his hand along the edge of the mantle, his eyes narrowing as he scrutinized the details. "I'm curious about the condition of the roof," he said. "Is it in need of any repairs?"

"It's mostly sound," Alessandro replied, his tone measured. "We've had a few minor issues, but nothing that a fresh coat of shingles won't fix. We've been planning to address that soon."

The man raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "We're trying to avoid any potential problems," he said. "The roof and its costs is a big consideration for us."

Alessandro's face fell as the couple's interest waned. "I understand," he said, trying to maintain his composure. "I just wanted to point out that the roof is one of the few things that we planned to update soon. The other house however has a brand new roof, which certainly makes it less of a concern for buyers."

As the couple continued their tour of the house, I slipped inside to make myself a cup of tea. The kitchen was a small but cozy space, with mismatched chairs around a vintage table and a kettle whistling softly on the stove. The aroma of the tea filled the room, mingling with the scent of the fresh herbs I'd grown on the windowsill. I leaned against the counter, letting the comforting steam warm my hands. It was a small moment of calm in the midst of the house tour, a chance to collect my thoughts before facing whatever came next.

My phone buzzed in the pocket of my apron. I fished it out and saw my mother's name flashing on the screen. I hesitated for a moment before answering, knowing she would expect me to be available whenever she called.

"Hello, Mother," I said, trying to keep my tone light.

"Isabella, dear," her voice came through the line, warm but with an edge of impatience. "I wanted to remind you about the party tonight. We're celebrating the new house. Your father and I have been planning this for weeks."

I glanced over at Alessandro, who was now showing the couple the master bedroom. "Yes, Mother, I remember," I said. "We'll be there."

"I hope you're prepared for it," she continued, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "We're expecting quite a few important guests. It's crucial that everything goes perfectly."

I nodded, even though she couldn't see me. "Of course. We're looking forward to it."

As I hung up, I couldn't help but feel a pang of frustration. The party was important to my mother, but for me, it felt like just another obligation. Obligations I tried to escape. This wasn't quite the life I had imagined, not entirely. But it was a life I had chosen, or at least a life I had hoped to shape into something meaningful. The house on Stonestreet was supposed to be our new beginning, the first step in building a future together. I had poured my heart into making it a home, just as I had poured my soul into my art.

Just as I was about to slip my phone back into my pocket, I looked down at my hands, stained with soil and the faint remnants of paint that never seemed to wash away completely. They were the hands of a painter, not a housewife, though I had tried my best to be both. My father's voice echoed in my mind, his words from so many years ago urging me to follow my passion, to never let go of what made me unique. It was his encouragement, after all, that had led to my first art show, and the sale that had allowed Alessandro and me to buy this house. But that was a lifetime ago, or so it seemed. Now, the art supplies sat gathering dust in a corner of the house, while I busied myself with tending to the garden, trying to find some semblance of peace in the life we had built.

The front door creaked open again, and I heard the couple's footsteps retreating down the path, followed by Alessandro's heavier tread. He approached me, his expression tight, as if he were holding back a storm of frustration.

"They're not going to make an offer," Alessandro said flatly, his voice carrying a note of defeat. "They were worried that the roof might deteriorate like ours has."

I couldn't help but roll my eyes. "Honestly, it sounds like an excuse. Maybe they just didn't like the place and were looking for a reason not to buy it."

Alessandro's frustration boiled over. "Don't you think I know that? It's not just about the roof. If you'd put away your painting mess and let them see the house in its full potential, they might have seen the value in it!"

I felt a sharp pang at his words. Painting had always been a part of me, something I cherished. "Fine," I said quietly "I'll clean up my things."

Alessandro's face softened slightly, but the frustration remained. "I didn't mean to—"

"It's okay," I cut him off. "I'll take care of it."

I watched Alessandro head upstairs, his footsteps echoing faintly through the hallway. The house was still and quiet, save for the rustling of leaves from the garden outside. I looked back at our garden, the roses forming a stark contrast to the storm of emotions brewing within me. "It's a beautiful day," I murmured to myself, trying to find solace in the simple truth of it. The sun was shining, casting a warm glow over the garden, but inside, the atmosphere felt heavy, weighed down by unspoken words and unmet expectations.

I reached the hallway and found myself standing before my art supplies, a canvas still half-finished, its colors a bright contrast to the muted tones of the house. I picked up a paintbrush, staring at it as if it held the answers to my frustrations. The house, the garden, even the party seemed to fade into the background as I wrestled with my thoughts.

I could hear Alessandro's voice from upstairs, the muffled tones of him getting ready for the party. It was a party that had been a long time coming, a celebration of the house we had bought nearly a year ago. My mother had insisted on waiting for the perfect moment to host it, wanting everything to be flawless. In truth, the delay had always felt like a sign of her desire for perfection, a reflection of the pressures she placed on herself and on us.

As I gazed out the window, I could see the garden in full bloom. It was a small sanctuary, a haven of beauty amidst the challenges of our daily lives. The roses, with their delicate petals and vibrant hues, seemed to whisper promises of new beginnings, of hope amidst the uncertainty. I couldn't help but think about my mother's elaborate plans for tonight, and how Alessandro's frustration had been palpable. The house was a symbol of our fresh start, but it had become a battleground of sorts—a place where expectations clashed with reality. My mother had always been the embodiment of grace and poise, but her desire for perfection sometimes felt like a heavy mantle that I struggled to shoulder alongside her.

Yet, as I looked around, I felt a flicker of hope. Tonight was more than just a party. It was an opportunity to celebrate our achievements, to showcase the life we had built together, and to share that with those we cared about. Despite the challenges, there was something inherently hopeful about marking milestones, about acknowledging the progress we had made. I took a deep breath and stepped away from the half-finished painting, feeling the weight of my thoughts lift slightly.

As I heard Alessandro's footsteps approaching, I turned to see him coming down the stairs. His expression was softer now, his earlier frustration replaced by something more subdued. He walked over to me and, with a gentle touch, kissed my neck. His warmth was a comfort against the cool tension that still lingered between us.

"I'm sorry for snapping earlier," he said, his voice carrying an edge of vulnerability. "It's been a rough day."

I turned to face him fully, noticing the sincerity in his eyes. "I get it," I said, trying to let go of my own irritation. "It's been stressful for both of us."

He took a step closer, his hands resting lightly on my shoulders. "I just feel like everything's piling up," he continued, his tone softening. "The pressure to sell the house, the party..."

He leaned in, his lips brushing against my neck in a tender kiss. The warmth of his touch made me shiver, a wave of goosebumps spreading across my skin. "Alessandro," I said quietly, a soft smile breaking through despite my lingering frustration. "You don't have to apologize. I know you're under a lot of pressure, and I love you for it. I love you, period."

His lips lingered on my skin, and I felt the gentle rhythm of his breath against my neck. "I love you too," he whispered, his voice filled with heartfelt emotion. "I'm sorry for being so hard on you."

As he pulled away slightly, his eyes met mine, and for a moment, we simply looked at each other, the weight of the day easing between us. There was still a lot to handle, but in that shared gaze, I found a sense of calm. It wasn't perfect, but it was honest. For now, that was enough.