Gemotions

The florist had a kind smile, but it did little to soothe the chill that had settled in Clara’s bones. The arrangement was beautiful – a mix of purple irises and delicate ferns. But the lack of a card, the anonymity of it all, was a blow. Her hands trembled as she took the flowers, her mind racing.

She sat them on the table in her dining room, staring at them. She couldn't eat. She couldn’t bring herself to open the blinds. The apartment felt too exposed. Every sound, every creak, made her jump.

She paced. She kept repeating, “Who? Why?” Her voice was a cracked whisper, the words swallowed by the silence. She felt a growing sense of vulnerability, like she was standing naked in a crowded room.