The kind I used to gather from the backyard and put in a jar on the kitchen table. My breath caught. The lawyer explained that before my husband died, he had prepaid for a flower delivery every year on my birthday—for the next ten years.
He’d planned it quietly, without telling anyone. I sank into the doorway, laughing and crying at the same time. It was such a him gesture—forgetting every important date while he was alive, then somehow remembering all of them after he was gone.
And as I pressed the bouquet to my chest, I realized something:
He had loved me in ways I never saw. And he was still loving me—even now. Note: This story is a work of fiction inspired by real events.
Names, characters, and details have been altered. Any resemblance is coincidental. The author and publisher disclaim accuracy, liability, and responsibility for interpretations or reliance.
All images are for illustration purposes only.
