Gemotions

The cardboard box sat on the doorstep, addressed to "Mr. and Mrs. Henderson." A hot prickle bloomed in Martha’s chest. The Hendersons. They’d moved out six months ago. She, Martha, had signed the lease. She was the one who paid the bills. She was the one who kept the place tidy. Now, this. Her jaw tightened as she hauled the thing inside.

She ripped the box open with more force than necessary, the tape snapping like a gunshot. Inside, nestled in packing peanuts, was a floral arrangement, a birthday gift, according to the card. “To Mary,” it read, “Happy Birthday! Love, Aunt Susan.”

Martha slammed the box shut. Aunt Susan clearly didn't realize the tenant had changed. What sort of assumption did Aunt Susan make to send flowers to a tenant who wasn't currently there? She stalked to the sink, the image of those bright, unwanted blossoms burning in her mind.