Someone
had sent her flowers. They sat now, arranged in her best vase, brightening the
breakfast nook. She hadn’t sat at that table for almost a year. She never went
into her breakfast nook anymore. But that table is where bouquets had always
been put, and that is where she found this bouquet waiting for her. It was
where bouquets belonged.
There were
roses, and daisies, and Baby’s Breath, and carnations, and other flowers whose
names she did not remember. It was a beautiful bouquet, big and showy, and it
must have been expensive. There was a small card that had come with the
bouquet, but she had not opened it. She was afraid to read it, afraid of who it
might be from, and sad because of who it could not be from.
But he was the
only person to ever buy her bouquets. He had made sure to get her a big bouquet
for their anniversary every year, it would be waiting there on the breakfast
table in the morning when she got up, leaving him still asleep in their
bedroom. And it was their anniversary, or would have been if he had not left
her here, alone. Almost a year ago, now. She had held his hand until he was
gone. He had said that he would always love her, that their love was eternal.
And today there was a bouquet.
