Gemotions

The lilies arrived on a Tuesday, delivered by a woman with a weary smile and the scent of exhaust clinging to her. Eleanor stared at them, the pristine white blooms a stark contrast to the chipped paint of her kitchen table. There wasn't a note, not a single clue as to their origin. She circled the arrangement, her brow furrowed, a tightness blooming in her chest. Had she forgotten an anniversary? A birthday? Her memory, usually sharp, felt like a fog-bound moor.

She ran her fingers over the silky petals, then back to her address book, flipping through the pages, her lips pursed. She replayed the last few days in her mind, searching for some hint, some signal. Had she offended someone? Was this a peace offering? The unknown felt heavy, a weight in the otherwise bright room.