They weren’t supposed to find it. But the garden remembered first.
It began with tulips.
Then a key buried in the soil.
Then a lock no one remembered installing.
Then the gate creaked open.
Beyond the garden wall was a hidden chamber. Ivy-curtained. Softly glowing.
Stone walls. Still air. Magic in the kind of way that feels familiar even if you’ve never seen it before.
And seven doors.
Each one different. Each with its own symbol.
One with a face.
One with a full moon.
One with a green tea leaf.
One with a sun.
One with a camera.
One with… nothing.
The seventh door was blank.
No handle. No name.
But something about it felt like waiting.
The children didn’t know what it meant.
Stevie wouldn’t tell them.
But when the ivy pulled back and the doors revealed themselves, it felt like the beginning of something they already belonged to.
The question isn’t what’s behind the doors.
Not really.
The question is:
What would be behind yours?
✍️ Journaling Prompt:
If you opened a door that knew your story, what would it reveal and what would it ask you to face?
🌿 This month’s letter tells the story of how the doors were discovered and why one of them is still waiting.
Read the full chapter »
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