THE evening breeze drifted lazily through the garden of the penthouse, stirring the petals of the white hibiscus bushes that lined the fence. The sun had long dipped below the horizon, leaving only a faint purple hue lingering at the edges of the sky, a quiet witness to the two girls sitting cross-legged on the carpet of soft grass.

Winifred and Flourish sat facing each other, knees brushing, their fingers gently linked in a knot that neither seemed willing to loosen. For a while they had spoken no words at all. Silence, heavy and raw, said everything their hearts were too tired to put into sentences.

The garden which used...