Someone still thought about me.
Someone still wanted to surprise me.
And that someone was my husband.
Next Friday, Marcus came home with flowers again.
This time, they were lilies.
The week after that, daisies.
Then sunflowers.
Every Friday, like clockwork, Marcus arrived home carrying another bouquet.
At first, I thought it was adorable. Sweet, even. Maybe he had decided to bring a little romance back into our lives.
But after a few weeks, something began to feel… strange.
One evening, I picked up the flowers to trim the stems and noticed dirt clinging to them, as if they had been pulled straight from the ground instead of cut cleanly.
“Where did you get these?” I asked casually.
Marcus barely looked up from his dinner plate.
“A flower shop near the office,” he said.
The answer seemed harmless enough.
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