Gemotions

The florist had a kind smile and an apologetic tone. "No card, ma'am. Just the flowers." A cluster of deep red roses sat in a glass vase, so perfect, they looked artificial. Margaret's face fell, the corners of her mouth twitching.

She’d spent the morning getting ready, expecting him. Then… this. An utter lack of communication. The deliberate silence felt like a calculated rebuke. She brought them into the kitchen and almost dropped the vase.

She poured herself a glass of wine, then another, the roses reflecting in the dark liquid. She studied the petals, examining them for clues, searching for some meaning that wasn't there. Then she started pacing the floor, her steps increasingly agitated.