Flowers

Previously

…A futile gesture, a desperate attempt to mend what was irrevocably broken. The news of the failed transplant had landed like another crushing blow, each word a hammer strike against the fragile edifice of my remaining sanity. Now, it was the lake. The lake that had swallowed her whole, the lake that had become her final resting place. I walked its edge every day, the cool, damp air a balm on my fevered soul. The purple tulips, now a constant companion, were always in my hands. I’d buy them from the same florist, a kind woman with eyes that held a flicker of understanding, a silent acknowledgment of the