I shrugged. “But they’re just flowers.”
He shook his head. “They’re never just flowers. They’re proof she’s loved. Proof she matters. Proof I’d choose her again, every time.”
That was how they loved—quietly, faithfully.
Even when Grandpa wasn’t feeling well, the flowers still came. Some Saturdays, I drove him myself. He’d stand there forever, carefully choosing the right bouquet, as if the decision mattered more than anything else.
Grandma always acted surprised, though she knew the routine by heart. She’d inhale their scent, arrange them just right, then kiss his cheek.
“You spoil me,” she’d say.
He’d grin. “Impossible.”
A week ago, Grandpa Thomas died.
He had been sick for a long time, though he never complained. Cancer, the doctors said—silent and spreading. Grandma held his hand until the end. I sat beside them, watching the man who taught me what love looks like slip away.
When he was gone, the quiet in that room felt unbearable.
The days after the funeral blurred together. I stayed with Grandma to help sort through his things—books, clothes, the reading glasses he always left on the nightstand.
The house felt hollow without him.
And then Saturday came.
For the first time in fifty-seven years, there were no flowers.
Grandma sat at the kitchen table, staring at the empty vase. I made tea, but she didn’t touch it.
“It’s strange,” she said softly, “how something so small can leave such a big hole.”
I squeezed her hand. “He loved you more than anything.”
“I know,” she said. “I just wish I could tell him one more time that I loved him too.”
The following Saturday, there was a knock at the door.
Neither of us expected visitors. When I opened it, a man stood on the porch holding a fresh bouquet and a sealed envelope.
“I’m here on behalf of Thomas,” he said gently. “He asked me to deliver this to his wife… after.”
My hands shook as I took them.
Inside, Grandma looked up. “Grace? Who is it?”
“These are for you,” I said, barely finding my voice.
Her face drained of color. “From where?”
I handed her the envelope. Her fingers trembled as she opened it.
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