Gemotions

The lilies arrived at noon, a fragrant white explosion against the drabness of the hallway. Sarah pressed a finger to her lips, a nervous habit she hadn’t realized she’d picked up. She hadn’t ordered flowers. Her breath hitched. She scanned the perfectly arranged blooms, the pristine vase, seeking some clue, some small label, any indication of sender. Nothing.

Her reflection in the polished glass of the front door showed her face pinched, her eyes wide. She carried them into the kitchen, placing them on the island. Each time her phone buzzed with an incoming text, her hand would fly to it, her heart thrumming against her ribs. She was jumpy, irritable, snapping at her son over spilled milk.

Later, she found herself avoiding her husband's gaze at dinner, picking at her food. The silence between them, usually comfortable, now felt thick, charged with unspoken accusations. She found herself washing the vase and hiding it in the cupboard, hoping somehow to erase the delivery and the unsettling feelings it brought.