The sun was setting when Thomas entered the garden.
Marguerite was calmly pulling weeds, as if nothing had happened.
“Why?” Thomas asked quietly.
She did not look up.
“Why did you make my wife work like an animal?” his voice began to shake.
“She almost lost our baby.”
Marguerite finally подняла her eyes.
“She is weak,” she said coldly. “A little work would make her stronger.”
Thomas slammed the shovel into the ground.
“She is carrying your grandchild!”
For the first time, Marguerite laughed.
“A grandchild?” she whispered. “You think I care about that?”
Thomas froze.
“What do you mean…?”
Her hands began to tremble.
And then she said the words that destroyed him:
“You are not my son.”
Silence fell over the garden.
Forty years ago, her sister had died in childbirth.
Marguerite took the baby and registered him as her own.
She raised him…
But never loved him.
“Every time I looked at you,” she said, tears in her eyes, “I saw the sister who took my life away.”
And then came the final confession.
“I never wanted your child to be born,” she whispered.
“I wanted this family to end with you.”
Thomas fell to his knees.
His whole life was a lie.
The police arrived that night.
The neighbors had spoken.
Marguerite was arrested for abuse and attempted harm.
The village closed its doors to her forever.
Thomas stayed by Camille’s side every day.
He cried.
He begged forgiveness.
He promised never to leave her again.
Months later, Camille gave birth to a healthy baby boy.
Thomas held his son and whispered:
“You saved us… without knowing it.”
They never returned to that house.
And the garden?
No one touched it again.
They say the potatoes still grow there…
But no one in the village dares to eat them.
Because sometimes…
The soil remembers what people try to bury.