Gemotions

The phone rang. It was the florist. "Are you happy with the delivery, madam?" The woman's voice was saccharine. "Yes," Clara said, her voice clipped, barely concealing the edge in her tone. The flowers were lovely; a delicate mix of sweet peas and freesia. But the lack of information gnawed at her. She just wished she knew who sent them. She hung up and threw the phone onto the sofa. The silence that followed felt heavy, suffocating. She felt a knot tighten in her stomach.

The pretty flowers felt like a weight, a puzzle she didn't want to solve. She wished she could just throw them out, but a strange sense of obligation stopped her. She stared at the flowers, a faint tremor running through her fingertips.