The moment I woke up, I knew something wasn’t right. It wasn’t the absence of sunlight filtering through the blinds, usually the unwelcome prelude of a new day. It was a deeper silence, a hollowness that echoed in the cavern of my chest. I reached out, my arm instinctively seeking the familiar warmth beside me. The sheets were cold, the space empty.
A prickle of unease snaked up my spine, coiling around my heart. I sat up, the world blurring momentarily as sleep clung to me like cobwebs. Then, I saw it. A single white lily on the pillow, its delicate petals a stark contrast to the rumpled sheets. My lily. Her lily. The one she’d plucked from a field of wildflowers on our first date, whispering promises of forever under a sky painted with the hues of a hopeful sunset.
