They weren’t born. They were grown.
Stevie planted them after Angela was gone.
He didn’t know what he was doing just that the letter she left behind said “Take care of these the way you took care of me.”
So he did.
He didn’t expect them to sprout.
He didn’t expect them to cry.
And he definitely didn’t expect them to become… children.
But they did.
Each one different. Each one blooming into something whole and alive and real.
Not quite human. Not quite vegetable.
Just… magic.
Here’s what we know about them:
➤ Noriko, the eldest. Responsible, quiet, always watching. He took charge without ever being asked—but never complained. At least, not where anyone could hear.
➤ Minato, the tea brewer. Thoughtful, observant, soft-spoken. He doesn’t say much, but when he does, it matters. He notices everything and holds it in.
➤ Rika, the artist. Always painting, always afraid to be seen. Her kindness is constant, even when she’s hurting. Especially then.
➤ Fumiko, the youngest. Loud. Chaotic. Hiding something deeper beneath all his jokes. He makes everyone laugh so no one asks what he’s scared of.
They don’t know where they came from.
Not really.
And Stevie can’t bring himself to tell them.
But they’re growing.
Changing.
Asking questions they never used to ask.
And the garden is remembering more than it lets on.
✍️ Journaling Prompt:
Which of the four onion kids do you see yourself in and why?
💌 This month’s sticker mail introduces each of the children through the objects they carry and the letters they haven’t sent.
Join the family here »
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