Gemotions

The calla lilies were exquisite, a delicate curve of white perfection. When the delivery person left, Michael stared at them, his breath catching in his throat. He set them on the kitchen counter, the stark beauty doing nothing to soothe the unease churning within him. He kept imagining the recipient’s expression when they saw the flowers.

He couldn't meet his daughter’s eyes at dinner. He found himself picking at the food on his plate. He avoided all conversations and any hint of celebration. He looked at his wife and his mouth felt dry. He knew he should say something, do something, but the words were a tangle in his throat.

Later, he considered throwing the flowers out, but he couldn't bring himself to touch them. He went to bed, but found himself staring at the ceiling, the unspoken burden heavy on him.