Gemotions

“Are they pretty?” her mother had asked, her eyes lighting up when the delivery guy left. She didn't respond. She just stared at the orchids, exotic and perfect, placed on the kitchen counter. No card. The silence that filled the kitchen was punctuated only by the ticking of the clock.

She felt a wave of nausea. The flowers were a beautiful cruelty, a reminder of everything she couldn't have. They seemed to mock her, standing there in their perfect, fragile beauty. She imagined the sender, their eyes cold and calculating.

She couldn’t eat, couldn’t concentrate. She sat by the window, watching the rain streak down the glass, mirroring the tears that pricked at her eyes. The flowers, meant to bring comfort, had only intensified the ache in her heart, the knowledge that everything she loved was at risk.