Gemotions

The lilies arrived at noon, a stark white against the drab November rain. Their fragrance, usually a welcome guest, filled Amelia's small apartment, a perfume that now choked her. She'd known this would happen. She stared at the blooms, a knot forming in her stomach that felt as heavy as the vase she now held.

The delivery man, bless his heart, had just shrugged when she asked about a note. "Just the flowers, ma'am," he'd said, oblivious to the storm brewing inside her. The absence of a message felt like a gaping wound, the silence of the sender deafening. Amelia clutched the vase, her knuckles white.

She'd hoped, desperately, for a sign, a confirmation. Instead, she had only the suffocating scent, the heavy silence, and the knowledge that she'd pushed him away, slowly, inexorably, until there was nothing left to say. She poured herself a glass of wine, then another, the crimson liquid failing to drown the hollowness that had taken up permanent residence in her chest.