Gemotions

The carnations sat on the porch, a splash of cheerful pink against the grey of the morning. Emily picked them up, her stomach twisting. She recognized the florist's truck. They always left deliveries at her door. The absence of a card was a deliberate choice. *This isn't a gesture of affection,* she surmised, the words echoing in her mind.

She ran her fingers over the petals, searching for some clue, some hint of the sender. Her phone was in her pocket. She should call someone, tell them. But telling someone about what, exactly? She carried the flowers inside, the silence of her apartment suddenly oppressive.