Gemotions

The delivery man, a kid really, with a too-big uniform, just grinned and vanished. The door slammed shut, leaving Eleanor staring at the bouquet. Crimson roses, the kind she loved. Who? Her hand trembled as she reached for them, fingers brushing the velvety petals. A small, dry cough escaped her lips. The silence of the apartment seemed to amplify the frantic thrumming in her chest. She needed to sit, to think, but her legs felt like they were filled with concrete.

Her gaze darted around the living room, as if the answer lay hidden behind a lampshade. Had she forgotten an anniversary? A birthday? The last time she'd received flowers, it had been from… well, it didn’t matter. She sank into the worn armchair, the roses still clutched in her hands, their fragrance suddenly overwhelming.