POV: Ronan Montague

The memorial garden was finished.

I stood at the entrance, looking at what three months of work had created. White roses climbed trellises on either side of the stone pathway. A fountain sat in the center, water flowing over smooth rocks. Benches lined the edges, placed in spots where sunlight filtered through the trees.

Juliana would have loved it.

"It's beautiful," Marcus said beside me. "She would be proud."

I nodded, not trusting my voice. The garden had been her ...