Gemotions

The lilies arrived at precisely 10:03 AM, the delivery person’s cheerful face a jarring contrast to the icy dread that had begun to pool in Amelia's stomach. White, of course. The color of surrender. She signed the slip with a flourish, her pen practically digging into the paper. “Thanks,” she managed, voice brittle as she took the bouquet. No card. Just a silent, smug declaration. She slammed the door, the floral scent now a weapon, a sickly sweet reminder of… well, of *him*. Amelia strode to the kitchen, yanking open the drawer where she kept the gardening shears. Each stem felt brittle beneath her hand as she cut them and discarded them into the bin.