Gemotions

The florist's van idled on the street, its engine throbbing like a guilty heart. I watched it from behind the blinds, my fingers tracing the lines of the glass. The delivery driver barely met my gaze as he handed over the box. Inside, a single orchid. Pristine, perfect. A single tear escaped, running down my face. I slammed the door and sank to the floor, pulling the box onto my lap. No card. Just the orchid, a silent demand for forgiveness. I knew I couldn’t, but the thought of discarding its beauty felt like a physical act of defiance against my own needs.