“Because they get better when someone truly cares for them,” she said simply. “And they help people who are hurting.”
Jonathan felt a quiet ache in his stomach.
“Clara,” he said gently, “would you like to live with me?”
She didn’t smile. She examined him carefully.
“Do you want to adopt me because you feel sorry for me,” she asked, “or because you’re afraid of being alone?”
The question hit harder than any diagnosis.
“I don’t know,” Jonathan admitted. “Maybe both.”
She considered this.
“At least you’re honest,” she said. “Most adults aren’t.”
The process moved quickly—lawyers, evaluations, background checks. But Clara had one condition.
“I want to see your house first.”
Jonathan’s estate overlooked the ocean—fifteen rooms, a pool, tennis court, landscaped gardens designed by professionals. Clara didn’t gasp. She walked straight to the soil and touched it.
“It’s beautiful,” she said, “but it’s not happy.”
Jonathan laughed nervously. “Not happy?”
“It’s decoration,” she said. “No one loves it. That’s like fake friends.”
For the first time, Jonathan felt foolish standing in his own garden.
“Can I make a real garden?” she asked. “Medicinal plants?”
“Yes.”