Helga nodded slowly, her face calm, but Aron could see the storm of emotion beneath her composed exterior. "You heard ," she said quietly, almost as if she was speaking to herself, her gaze distant. "I never told Es about you, or about anything that happened. I never ntioned the garden, or the boy I used to talk to there." She paused, her words hanging in the air between them, heavy with the weight of her confession. "I didn’t even know you were a boy at first."
Aron was silent, his mind racing to catch up with what she was saying. The garden... the boy... the mories. His heart pounded in his chest as fragnts of long-buried mories began to stir, the faint echoes of conversations from a forgotten ti resurfacing in his mind.
Helga glanced at him briefly, her expression a mixture of nostalgia and regret before she continued. "I went to that place to clear my mind. I didn’t go there to find anyone, least of all you. It was just... a place I could escape to when Es wasn’t around. When she was gone, I felt lonely, like sothing was missing. The garden gave peace. It beca my sanctuary, and you... you were just there." Her voice wavered slightly, the vulnerability in her words striking sothing deep within Aron.
"When Es ca back, I stopped going," Helga went on, her voice steadier now, though it carried an undertone of sothing Aron couldn’t quite na—sorrow, perhaps, or regret. "I didn’t need the garden anymore because the loneliness faded. I didn’t think much about it after that, but then one day, Es brought you ho."
Aron’s breath hitched as her words began to make sense, the pieces of a puzzle he hadn’t even known existed suddenly fitting together. His eyes widened as Helga continued, her voice soft and unassuming.
"I didn’t recognize you at first," she admitted, "not by your face anyway. But then I slled it—the herbal soap you always used, the faint scent of dicine that was always on you. That’s when I realized. It was the sa scent from the garden." She looked at him then, her eyes locking onto his, and in that mont, Aron saw the depth of her emotions. "I knew it was you."
Aron’s heart raced as the full realization hit him. He had been that boy in the garden, the one Helga had spoken to, the one who had unknowingly been part of her life long before they t in any formal sense. It felt surreal, like discovering a hidden thread that had been there all along, tying them together.
"I was shocked," Helga continued, her voice softening with a wistfulness that tugged at Aron’s heart. "I couldn’t believe it at first, but then I asked Es about it, and she said sothing I’ll never forget. She told , ’We are family, and family doesn’t always need words to understand one another. Sotis, we just know.’"
Aron stood there, the weight of her words sinking into him. Family. The word echoed in his mind, weaving through all the mories he shared with Helga and Es, shaping the bond they had ford over the years. This revelation, this connection he had unknowingly shared with Helga, was deeper than he could have ever imagined.
It felt like sothing had shifted between them in that mont—not in a way that created distance, but in a way that brought them even closer. He had always known that Helga was important to him, that she was part of the small, precious family he had built around himself. But now, knowing that their connection had started long before he even understood its significance, made it all the more aningful.
Helga turned away from the building and t Aron’s gaze, her expression soft but serious. "I’m telling you this now because... I didn’t want there to be anything left unsaid between us. We’ve shared so much already, and I didn’t want to keep sothing like this hidden from you anymore."
Aron’s breath hitched, his chest tightening as the weight of Helga’s words settled on him like a crushing force. He bit his lip, the tension in his jaw visible as he struggled to hold back the flood of emotions. His voice, when it ca, was rough and slightly hoarse, betraying the vulnerability he was fighting to contain. "Why are you telling about this now?"
Helga’s gaze remained steady, her tone calm and asured, as though she had prepared herself for this conversation long ago. "You know," she began, her words gentle yet filled with an unspoken sorrow, "when we needed her, she was always there. Even when we couldn’t see her, feel her, she was still watching over us." Her eyes softened with mories, her voice dipping into a reflective tone. "In all these years, after eting Es, I never missed my family. She beca our family—she was the one who filled that space. But we never understood until it was too late... just how much of a shield she was for us."
Aron’s brow furrowed, his thoughts spinning in different directions. Es. Her na, the mories of her laughter, her unwavering strength, all ca rushing back. Helga continued, her voice quiet but firm, each word tugging at emotions he had long tried to bury.
"Es was always haughty, always smiling," Helga continued, her lips curving slightly as if rembering so private joke. "She made everything seem like it was nothing. She never let us see her struggle, never let us worry. But when I think back, every mory I have, every important mont... she’s there. Always in the background, always part of it." Her gaze grew distant for a mont before her eyes flicked back to Aron’s face. "Rember when we left her in that office?"
A chill ran through Aron at the ntion of that day. He clenched his fists, a sickening sense of guilt washing over him.
"Even though we knew it was dangerous, even though she knew there was a chance she might not make it out... the first thing she did was force us to leave." Helga’s voice cracked slightly, the mory evidently still fresh, still raw. "She made us escape. She made us live, while she stayed behind."
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