In the heart of a Dorset summer, where the sun lingered high and lazy, she sat on the worn step of the red back door of Sunshine Cottage—her home, her haven. Sandals rested loosely on Madeline's feet; the yellow wellies stood nearby, mud-speckled from yesterday’s ramble through the dew-soaked grass. Today they could wait. Today was for stillness.

A quiet joy settled deep within her, the kind that asked for no hurry, no explanation. She breathed in the warm scent of earth and sweet lavender, letting it fill her completely. This garden—her garden—was alive around her: sunflowers stretching tall as if to touch the sky, hollyhocks swaying, flowers pressing close as though to share their colour and warmth. She loved every inch of it, the way it bloomed and grew and forgave her small neglects.

Above, two doves preened on the roof tiles, their gentle coos mingling with the hum of the afternoon. A sparrow darted close, worm clamped proudly in its beak, pausing just long enough for her to smile at its small triumph before it slipped into the eaves.

Life moved in soft circles—simple, persistent, kind.

She thought of nothing pressing. The old worries had drifted off like clouds on a light breeze, leaving only this: the warmth on her skin, the certainty that right here, in Sunshine Cottage, everything was as it should be.

Her hands rested easy in her lap. She felt the slow, steady beat of her heart, in time with the pulse of the earth beneath her. Gratitude rose like heat from sun-warmed stone—not loud, just a gentle knowing that she belonged here, held by the light, wrapped in green and gold.

A breeze stirred the sunflowers; they nodded in quiet agreement. She closed her eyes for a breath, letting the sunlight dance across her lids. When she opened them, the joy remained—deeper now, rooted.

This was enough. More than enough.

The afternoon stretched on, luminous and unhurried, and Madeline stayed exactly where she was: held by her home, held by her garden, held by a happiness so gentle it felt like coming home.

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