Gemotions

The doorbell chimed, a cheerful sound that felt like a mockery. Sarah dragged herself to the door, her reflection in the peephole a stranger she barely recognized. Dark circles bruised her eyes, a testament to sleepless nights spent replaying failures. On the porch, a florist’s box sat, tied with a pristine ribbon. Inside, a riot of colour: crimson roses, sunny sunflowers, delicate baby’s breath. No card. She brought the flowers inside, the scent a sharp contrast to the stale air of her apartment. She set them on the chipped kitchen table, a splash of beauty in a scene of decay. The blooms seemed to judge her with their silent, perfect faces.