Desiree didn’t remember how she got there.

At first, all she was aware of was the smell. Flowers, soft, sweet, almost overwhelming. Not the sharp scent of fresh-cut roses, but something warmer, gentler. Lavender, maybe. Jasmine. The kind of smell that clung to memories rather than places.

She stood in the middle of a garden that felt strangely familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. Rows of flowers stretched endlessly in every direction, their colors muted, almost hazy, as though she were ...