Gemotions

The lilies arrived on a Tuesday, pale and perfect in their cellophane sheath. Sarah’s jaw clenched. She stared at the delivery person, expecting a name, a clue, anything. But there was nothing. Just the flowers, a stark white against the dull grey of the hallway. She took the bouquet, the paper rustling in her suddenly shaky hands, and shut the door with a decisive click.

Back in the apartment, she carefully trimmed the stems, arranging the lilies in a crystal vase. The scent was cloying, almost offensive. She'd always loved lilies. Now, the fragrance filled the room, a fragrant mockery of a gesture. She wandered over to the window, the vase clutched to her chest, and watched the traffic crawl along the street, feeling a coldness settle in her stomach.