Listen…
… and you will understand.
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☕ The Garden Table at Four
A story about what blooms when truth is finally spoken
At exactly four o’clock every Thursday, Eleanor Whitmore sat at the wrought-iron table beneath the ivy-covered trellis in the back garden of The Marigold Café.
The café sat on a quiet corner where brick met blossom. Out front, people hurried past with laptops and ambition. Out back, the world softened. Lavender leaned into rosemary. Bees stitched golden threads between petals. The fountain murmured as if rehearsing secrets.
Eleanor liked the back garden because no one rushed there.
She arrived with a leather-bound notebook and ordered the same thing every week. Chamomile tea. Lemon slice. Honey on the side.
Routine was her armor.
Today, however, routine felt thin.
She smoothed her linen skirt and checked her watch. Four o’clock precisely.
He was late.
Thomas Hale had not been late once in twenty-two years of marriage.
That detail alone made her stomach tighten.
The waiter, a young man named Luis with kind eyes and a habit of humming old jazz standards, approached her table.
“Your usual, Mrs. Whitmore?”
She nodded. “Please.”
He hesitated, glancing toward the wrought-iron gate that led into the garden. “Expecting someone?”
“Yes.”
She didn’t elaborate. She wasn’t sure she could.
Luis returned with her tea. The steam rose in pale ribbons. Eleanor wrapped her fingers around the porcelain cup, letting the heat seep into her bones.
Four minutes past.
Seven.
Ten.
And then she saw him.
Thomas entered the garden as if stepping into unfamiliar territory. His shoulders, once square with quiet confidence, sloped forward. His hair, now more silver than brown, caught the late afternoon light.
He spotted her.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Then he approached.
“Eleanor.”
“Thomas.”
He pulled out the chair across from her. The scrape of metal against stone sounded louder than it should have.
“You’re late,” she said gently.
“I know.”
He folded his hands on the table, then unfolded them, then folded them again. The fountain continued its steady whisper, indifferent to human tension.
“I almost didn’t come,” he admitted.
Eleanor’s pulse flickered.
“Why?”
“Because I don’t know how to say what I need to say.”
She studied him carefully. For months, something had shifted between them. Not dramatically. No shattered plates. No slammed doors.
Just a thinning.
Like a once-lush garden neglected one season too long.
“You can start anywhere,” she said.
He exhaled slowly.
“I’m unhappy.”
The words settled between them like an unexpected guest.
Eleanor did not flinch.
“I know,” she replied.
That startled him.
“You do?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“You’ve been somewhere else for years.”
A bee drifted lazily between the lavender sprigs. The scent of basil hung faint in the air. Inside the café, laughter rose and fell like distant waves.
Thomas rubbed his forehead.
“I didn’t mean to drift,” he said. “It just… happened.”
“Drifting is a choice,” Eleanor answered softly. “Even if it’s a quiet one.”
He looked up at her then, really looked at her, perhaps for the first time in a long while.
“You seem calm,” he said.
“I’ve had practice.”
The truth was she had rehearsed this conversation a hundred times in her mind. While folding laundry. While lying awake at three in the morning. While sitting at this very table pretending to read.
She had sensed it. The distance. The unspoken ache.
“What do you want?” she asked.
Thomas swallowed.
“I don’t know who I am anymore,” he said. “I go to work. I come home. I smile at neighbors. I fix the sink when it leaks. And somewhere along the way, I stopped recognizing myself.”
Eleanor stirred her tea slowly, though she hadn’t added the honey yet.
“And you think leaving will fix that?”
He hesitated.
“I don’t know.”
Honesty. Raw and unpolished.
The garden breeze brushed against her cheek.
“Is there someone else?” she asked, steady.
“No.”
The answer came without delay.
“Then what are we really talking about?”
He stared at the ivy overhead as if hoping it might offer guidance.
“I feel invisible,” he said finally.
Eleanor blinked.
“Invisible?”
“Yes. Like I’ve become a supporting character in my own life.”
The words landed heavier than she expected.
“I didn’t know you felt that way,” she said quietly.
“I didn’t know how to say it.”
Silence stretched again, but this time it wasn’t brittle. It felt reflective. The kind that invites truth rather than avoids it.
“You know,” Eleanor began carefully, “I’ve felt invisible too.”
Thomas looked at her sharply.
“You?”
“Yes.”
She set down her cup.
“When the children left for college, when you buried yourself in work, when conversations turned into logistics. I became the background music in my own marriage.”
A flicker of regret crossed his face.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
She almost laughed.
“For the same reason you didn’t tell me.”
Fear.
Fear of disrupting the fragile peace.
Fear of being dismissed.
Fear of confirming that something essential had shifted beyond repair.
Luis approached with a tray balanced on one palm. “Would you like anything else?”
Eleanor glanced at Thomas.
“Two slices of the lemon cake,” she said.
Thomas raised an eyebrow.
“We’re having cake?”
“Yes,” she replied firmly. “If we’re going to dismantle twenty-two years, we might as well do it with dessert.”
Luis grinned, sensing the gravity without understanding the details, and retreated.
Thomas gave a faint smile.
“I missed that about you,” he said.
“What?”
“Your stubbornness.”
“It’s not stubbornness,” she corrected. “It’s resilience.”
The cake arrived. Bright, unapologetically yellow beneath a dusting of powdered sugar.
They each took a bite.
For a moment, they were simply two people sharing sweetness under an ivy trellis.
“I don’t want to leave,” Thomas said suddenly.
Eleanor’s fork paused midair.
“But I don’t want to stay the way we are.”
“Neither do I.”
The admission felt like a door cracking open.
“What if,” she ventured slowly, “we stopped performing?”
“Performing?”
“Yes. The perfect couple. The efficient household managers. The polite dinner party hosts.”
He considered this.
“What would we be instead?”
“Honest.”
The word hung between them, both terrifying and liberating.
“What does that look like?” he asked.
“It looks like saying you feel invisible before it festers. It looks like admitting you’re bored. Or scared. Or restless. It looks like asking for change instead of silently resenting stagnation.”
He leaned back in his chair, absorbing her words.
“And you?” he asked. “What would you ask for?”
Eleanor hadn’t expected that question.
She inhaled deeply.
“I want more,” she said.
“More what?”
“More conversation. More spontaneity. More acknowledgment that we are still evolving. I don’t want to spend the next twenty years replaying the first twenty.”
The fountain splashed steadily, as if applauding the bravery of candor.
Thomas reached across the table.
He didn’t grab her hand.
He simply placed his palm near hers.
An invitation.
“I’m afraid,” he admitted.
“So am I.”
“But maybe fear means we still care.”
Eleanor let that settle.
The garden around them glowed in the amber wash of late afternoon sun. Petals shimmered. Shadows lengthened.
“Then let’s be afraid together,” she said.
He looked at her, searching for certainty.
“You’re willing to try?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Even if it’s messy?”
She smiled faintly.
“Gardens are messy. That’s how things grow.”
A breeze lifted the edge of the tablecloth. Somewhere near the gate, someone laughed loudly before disappearing inside.
Thomas finally reached for her hand.
This time, she met him halfway.
Their fingers intertwined, not out of habit, but intention.
“Thursday at four,” she said. “No matter what. We meet here. We talk. No distractions.”
“Even if we argue?”
“Especially if we argue.”
He nodded slowly.
“I forgot how brave you are,” he murmured.
“I didn’t,” she replied.
They sat there a while longer, not solving everything, not mapping out a perfect future.
Just sitting.
Together.
As the sun dipped lower, the garden lights flickered on one by one, small golden halos illuminating the path.
Eleanor realized something in that gentle glow.
Relationships do not wither in dramatic storms alone.
They fade in silence.
But silence can be interrupted.
At exactly five o’clock, they rose from the table.
Thomas tucked his chair in carefully. Eleanor closed her notebook, though she hadn’t written a single word.
They walked toward the gate side by side.
Not fixed.
Not flawless.
But willing.
And sometimes, in a quiet garden behind a small café, willingness is enough to begin again.
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63: No Chance
2019.
Like the 6th Avenue Bridge, the Robinson Street Bridge had been destroyed at Zero Hour. Mirroring 6th Avenue’s Arch of Mercy, the Arch of Memory welcomed those who crossed the Brennert River, on whose banks stood the Titan City Correctional Facility.
The TCCF had been home to Hank Mills since 1988, adding thirty-one more years to the five he spent before. At the age of sixty-six, Hank…
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A story about young love.
I wanted to write a love story about young people.
A story about young love.
In TV dramas and entertainment stories,
we often see the same pattern—
a rich heir falling in love with a poor girl.
That kind of story is still very popular.
But I wanted to write something different.
A story about young people discovering their own talents,
about friends who help each other realize their hidden potential.
A story about ordinary people—
who are, in truth, deeply charming in their own ways.
That is the story I wanted to tell.
And I’m truly proud of it.
The Love of Therius 001 | iRane
Yoon Taeri is someone you can easily find around you,
yet at the same time, someone whose true charm is hard to discover.
She is a deep soul who quietly holds her hidden qualities close to her heart.
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61: Killers of Different Kinds
2019.
Gracie didn’t mind the little specks of rain drizzling down the windows of the Lincoln-Zephyr. Weather like this made people more quiet, and, in her experience, that made them a little more gentle, easier to deal with.
She would have preferred to be wearing something soft and warm though, not her courier suit. It was too crisp, too new. Even though it fit well, it didn’t feel like it was…
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60: Seduced by the Mask
1971.
Seduced by the Mask spent more weeks on the Titan Gazette bestsellers list than any book before it. Its depictions of the Crimson Wraith being a closeted homosexual when not waging his unelected war against crime captured the general imagination. Citizens did not have to purchase a copy to hear about it. Newspapers, television programs, and radio shows brought awareness of its allegations…
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Seek Immediate Shelter by Vincent Yu
A tense, character-driven look at fear, choice, and the ripples of human decisions.
Pre-Reading Thoughts:
The premise immediately grabbed me: a small town under the threat of a missile. I was expecting a high-stakes thriller with adrenaline and near-constant tension.
Post-Reading:
As I thought… Yu explores human behaviour in crisis with subtlety and insight. The characters’ fears, instincts, and choices are compelling and believable, showing how moments of panic reveal long-hidden truths.
It surprised me by… being far more about aftermath than the threat itself. The missile is almost incidental — the story is really about how people live with and respond to those brief, intense moments. The separate but lightly interwoven storylines work to show consequences across time, but I wanted a little more crossover; the threads feel like glimpses rather than a tapestry.
Music Pairing:
🎵 Featured Song: “Waiting Game” – Banks
🎶 Vibe Album: For All We Know – Dave
🎧 Artist Recommendation: Ben Howard (for introspective, tensioned storytelling)
Vibe Check:
- 🎨 Colour Palette: steel grey, ash white, muted blue
- 🎬 Soundtrack: distant alarms, muted chatter, the quiet after
- 🌤 Season: late winter — stark, cold, contemplative
- 💭 Mood: tense, reflective, morally questioning
- 🌹 Scent: rain on concrete, ozone after lightning
For fans of: The Day of the Triffids (for unexpected human tension) and Little Fires Everywhere (for interwoven, character-focused consequences)
Tarot Pull: 8 of Cups. Sometimes you just need to take a minute, walk away and assess what’s just happened. So does everyone around you.
Seek Immediate Shelter publishes on the 5th May, 2026. I received a free copy and am giving an honest review.
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Where Hunger Sleeps
When the global banking grid fell silent, nobody believed it would last. Screens blinked error codes, governments issued calm statements, and the wealthy promised it was all “temporary liquidity disruption.” But days turned to weeks, and then to the kind of silence that meant the world had stopped believing in safety.
Civilization didn’t fall with fire—it unraveled in hunger.
Food vanished…
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Three Beer Man
Three Beer Man
Funny Story to tell your Friends
Three Beer Man
A man walked into a small Irish pub and ordered three beers. The bartender was surprised, but he served that man three beers. One hour later, the man ordered three beers again. The very next day, that man ordered three beers again and drank quietly at a table. This happened several times, and shortly after, the people of the town…
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Through the Blue Gaze — a striking cover that pulls you into an electric stare, where shadows and light blur into mystery. Sometimes, stories begin with a single look — powerful, sharp, unforgettable. Perfect for fantasy or character-driven tales. 💙👁️
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Ana Ranjado — a soft slice-of-life cover featuring a woman leaning on an orange 🍊, surrounded by calm tones and quiet simplicity. Sometimes, stories live in the little things — and that’s where the heart is.
If you’re writing a slice-of-life or character-driven story and want a cover that reflects its gentle rhythm, feel free to message me. I’d love to create something warm and unique for you. 🎨✨
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Esper Agent Corps (Part 1) (on Wattpad)
Esper Agent Corps (Part 1) - Esper Agent Corps (Part 1)
In a world where gifted individuals known as Espers are recruited into a special corps, a newly formed team of four agents embarks on their first mission to neutralize a high-level threat. The team is a volatile mix: Agent #27, a stoic marksman with “All Vision”; Agent #34, a chaotic pyrokinetic with his “Ember Guild”; Agent #15, a misanthropic genius with “Auto Chemist” abilities; and Agent #20, a timid rookie who can create energy “Walls”.
En route to their target, they are ambushed by the Corydon twins, whose combined powers of induced euphoria and crippling despair quickly overwhelm the agents, turning their own abilities and personalities against them. Trapped and on the verge of defeat, the team is forced to overcome their differences and synergize their unique gifts in a desperate, coordinated counter-attack, forging a reluctant but effective unit in the crucible of their first battle.
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The Wraith is a haunting narrative podcast that drifts through shadows, secrets, and the supernatural. Each episode unfolds a chilling tale of loss, vengeance, and the unknown — where reality bends and darkness has a voice.
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the centrifuge
I did not seduce the centrifuge.
It was already spinning.
I merely approached.
With confidence.
And my sample.
I did not seduce the centrifuge.
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PTSD-Character
I’ve seen many people with PTSD.
I observed the dynamics, noted behavioral patterns, tracked what triggered them.
Some froze, others lashed out.
But it was always from the outside.
When I was developing Will—building his psychological core—I thought I had a clear understanding of what I was writing about.
But the moment I tried to show his state from the inside—not theoretically, but by letting those emotions pass through me—my perception changed.
It turned out to be harder than I expected.
His emotional state swings from “doing great” to “can’t take it anymore.”
And sometimes, the most ordinary things cause reactions that are hard to explain to someone who’s relatively stable.
Still, what I see now is a deep trauma mechanism clashing with an equally deep personal structure.
And I’m trying to get it right.
It’s interesting. Sometimes difficult. But probably necessary.
Let’s see where it leads.
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The Respawn Chronicles - Part 2
📚✨ Dive into a thrilling tale where death is just the beginning! Discover Dave’s journey through bizarre accidents, mysterious abilities, and a game with fate itself. Can he uncover the secrets of his newfound power? Click to unravel the mystery! #Supern
Click Here: To Read The Respawn Chronicles – Part 1
Opening his eyes, Dave found himself back in bed, the same old alarm blaring loudly beside him. Confused, he sat up, trying to make sense of the bizarre events that had just transpired, but the absurdity left him speechless. With a groan, he silenced the relentless alarm and rolled out of bed, feeling the familiar chill of the wooden floor…
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Guess who just found this gem on YouTube 🥰 So happy to see it here. I remember a few people mentioned they hadn’t seen it yet and wanted to check it out. Please check it out, Pedro Pascal and Sophie Thatcher are amazing in this 🥰 Prospect
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Winter Counts by David Heska Wanbli Weiden; 5 out of 5 Stars
My pick for my favorite book I read in 2021! I definitely have several tiktoks of me crying about the ending of this book, but it was really good and I enjoyed it.
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Between Books
I recently found myself in between books with nothing really grabbing me. It happens. I’ll find myself in a little bit of a slump where nothing seems to grab (or hold) my attention. When this happens, I try to go for something different to break up my long list of thrillers and mysteries. This time, I read a short story by Jennifer Wiener (Swim) which was nice—like visiting an old friend if you’re familiar with her work. The other was full book, although not a very long one, and yes, this was different from anything I had read before. In a good way!
Nothing to See Here by Kevin Wilson
Lillian gets a job as a nanny to her best friend’s step-children. Room and board is covered, and the kids are about 9 or 10 years old, so they don’t need constant supervision. Except they do. Because they have a very rare condition. A condition that causes them to burst into flames whenever they are upset. Don’t want to move houses? Flames. Don’t like dinner that’s being served? Flames. Don’t want to go to the doctor to find out why they catch themselves on fire? Yep…lots of flames. The story itself is very sweet; how Lillian grows to find a purpose in her life with these two kids, and the kids learn love and respect from Lillian—something they’ve never had, not even from their own father. I enjoyed the characters and their growth, and found a few laughs along the way, too.
4 Stars
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Well, today I worked on my epilogue to my #novel. I had a wonderful #idea and needed to add what I saw in my mind. I may have an outline of my #story, but my story is #characterdriven. My #characters are the pilot and I am the co-pilot.
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I also worked on my story #synopsis for my back cover and other details as well. I spoke with my #book cover designer and we made some changes that I felt needed to be made. I also worked on my #dedication and #acknowledgment page…
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What did you work on today?
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