She squeezed my fingers so hard they hurt.
Neither of us said much.
There wasn’t anything useful to say.
People kept coming up to me afterward, quietly.
They hugged me, told me Adrian loved me, and promised that time would make things easier.
I nodded because I didn’t know what else to do.
I thought that was the worst day of my life.
Three months later, I learned I was wrong.
I’m a florist.
Before Adrian died, weddings had always been my favorite jobs.
I loved arriving before the guests, when venues still felt unfinished. I loved watching empty rooms slowly become celebrations.
Flowers could change everything.
A plain table became romantic with the right centerpiece.
A cold ballroom became warm with greenery and candlelight. A nervous bride could relax the second someone placed a bouquet in her hands.
After Adrian died, I couldn’t even look at a bridal bouquet without thinking about the one I’d chosen for myself.
