Gemotions

The doorbell chimed, a cheery sound that grated on Clara’s nerves. She practically leaped across the living room, yanking the door open before the person could even finish their ring. A florist, beaming, held out a bouquet of lilies and roses. No card. “For you, ma’am!” he chirped. Clara snatched the flowers, the stems prickling her palm. “Thank you,” she mumbled, already closing the door. Her pulse hammered against her ribs. Who? She had to know.

She shoved the bouquet onto the kitchen counter. The scent, normally delightful, felt cloying. She scanned the flowers for some clue, a misplaced ribbon, a telltale leaf. Nothing. She reached for the phone, then stopped, her hand hovering in mid-air. She couldn't call anyone. Not yet.

She paced the kitchen, her bare feet slapping against the cold tile. Each tick of the clock on the microwave felt like a hammer blow. The silence was deafening. She needed to know who sent these. Needed it now.