A worried woman | Source: Pexels
This time, it was them. Carol was the first to arrive, holding a large bouquet of flowers. White lilies. Expensive. Dad was behind her, looking small and tired.
“Hi, Elena,” Carol said, her smile tight. “We just… wanted to know how you were.”
I crossed my arms. “What do you want?”
She laughed a little, fake and loud. “We’ve heard about… everything. And we realized we might have been a little hard on you. We’re sorry.”
A man and his wife drinking tea | Source: Pexels
Dad stepped forward, his voice low. “I’m sorry, kid. I should have been there for you. I messed up.”
I stared at him. He looked like he meant it. His hands were shaking a little.
Carol pushed the flowers toward me. “We thought… maybe you could come back home. Just until you sort things out.”
I picked up the flowers. I smelled them. They were beautiful. But they didn’t make me forget.
A woman smelling flowers | Source: Pexels
“Thank you for the apology,” I said, keeping my voice firm. “But I have a place now.”
Carol opened her mouth as if to argue. Dad just nodded, his eyes bright with regret.
“I hope you find what you’re looking for,” I said, and I closed the door. I didn’t slam it. It wasn’t necessary.
A month later, I moved into my new home.
A woman moving into her new home | Source: Pexels
It was small but perfect. Light blue shutters. A little garden out front. A quiet street.
I spent the first night there sitting on the floor, eating pizza straight from the box, laughing and crying because I couldn’t believe it.
The business, “Carter’s Floral Boutique,” was run by a sweet elderly woman named Mrs. Jensen. She had known my godmother for years.
An elderly woman smiling with flowers in hand | Source: Pexels
“We’re so glad you’re here,” she told me, handing me a bouquet of fresh flowers on the first day I visited. “Helen always talked about you.”
I helped out in the shop a few days a week, learning. Flowers everywhere. Soft music. Smiling customers. It wasn’t what I studied in university, but it felt right.
Money was no longer a problem. I could take my time. I could breathe.
Dad would text me from time to time.
A worried woman | Source: Pexels
This time, it was them. Carol was the first to arrive, holding a large bouquet of flowers. White lilies. Expensive. Dad was behind her, looking small and tired.
“Hi, Elena,” Carol said, her smile tight. “We just… wanted to know how you were.”
I crossed my arms. “What do you want?”
She laughed a little, fake and loud. “We’ve heard about… everything. And we realized we might have been a little hard on you. We’re sorry.”
A man and his wife drinking tea | Source: Pexels
Dad stepped forward, his voice low. “I’m sorry, kid. I should have been there for you. I messed up.”
I stared at him. He looked like he meant it. His hands were shaking a little.
Carol pushed the flowers toward me. “We thought… maybe you could come back home. Just until you sort things out.”
I picked up the flowers. I smelled them. They were beautiful. But they didn’t make me forget.
A woman smelling flowers | Source: Pexels
“Thank you for the apology,” I said, keeping my voice firm. “But I have a place now.”
Carol opened her mouth as if to argue. Dad just nodded, his eyes bright with regret.
“I hope you find what you’re looking for,” I said, and I closed the door. I didn’t slam it. It wasn’t necessary.
A month later, I moved into my new home.
A woman moving into her new home | Source: Pexels
It was small but perfect. Light blue shutters. A little garden out front. A quiet street.
I spent the first night there sitting on the floor, eating pizza straight from the box, laughing and crying because I couldn’t believe it.
The business, “Carter’s Floral Boutique,” was run by a sweet elderly woman named Mrs. Jensen. She had known my godmother for years.
An elderly woman smiling with flowers in hand | Source: Pexels
“We’re so glad you’re here,” she told me, handing me a bouquet of fresh flowers on the first day I visited. “Helen always talked about you.”
I helped out in the shop a few days a week, learning. Flowers everywhere. Soft music. Smiling customers. It wasn’t what I studied in university, but it felt right.
Money was no longer a problem. I could take my time. I could breathe.
Dad would text me from time to time.
