Chapter 9
Early the next morning, Emily headed downstairs for school as usual. There stood Harold under the tree, holding a bouquet.
He came over as soon as he saw her.
“Good morning, Emily.”
Emily looked at the large bouquet of daisies Harold was holding and took a slight step back.
“Harold, didn’t we agree you wouldn’t bother me?”
Hearing Emily’s tone drop, Harold seemed to know he was in the wrong and lowered his eyes slightly.
“Emily, I promised not to bring up remarriage, but I should have the right to win you back, shouldn’t I?”
“I know I hurt you before, I just want to make it up now.”
Emily glanced at her watch, not wanting to argue with Harold any longer.
“When we divorced, I told you I don’t revisit the past.”
Maybe those words stung Harold, because he didn’t follow her.
Every morning and evening without fail, Emily received messages
wishing her good morning and good night, reminding her to dress warmly in cold weather or carry an umbrella when it rained.
And each time she walked downstairs, she’d find a fresh bouquet of
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daisics waiting on her car.
After several weeks of this, Emily finally snapped.
She put on her mask, grabbed the daisies, and marched toward Harold’s parked car nearby
Tapping politely on the window, she tossed the bouquet inside the moment Harold’s aloof face appeared. Harold looked confused.
Crossing her arms, Emily spoke with undefinable weariness or irritation.
“Harold, whether you’re trying to make amends or win me back, shouldn’t you know what she likes?”
“After all this time, you never realized I’m allergic to daisies. How ridiculous.”
As the words landed, Emily watched Harold’s face go pale.
In that instant, Emily saw immense confusion and helplessness flood Harold’s face. A crack named ‘defeat‘ split across his usually ice–cold
expression.
Emily had no patience to keep dragging this out with him.
“Harold, do you know what it means when spilled water can’t be gathered and a broken mirror can’t be mended?”
“We’re both adults. I don’t need your belated attempts to make amends. It only makes the six years I gave you, the six years I loved you, feel like a joke!”
Emily didn’t know if her agitation in that moment stemmed from memories of half a year ago in England.
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Chapter 9
She did, inappropriately, recall the bouquet of lily of the valley Harold had given on Sophia’s birthday.
Seven years apart, Harold still remembered every single one of Sophia’s preferences with startling clarity. But what about her–the woman who’d been married to him for five years?
After she’d resolved to cut ties with Harold and live separate lives, his so- called amends and pursuit meant he still hadn’t realized she was allergic to daisies after five years? The irony cut deep.
Emily stared straight at Harold, watching his lips part as if searching for words. But she couldn’t bear to hear another syllable.
A bone–deep weariness she hadn’t felt in ages washed over her.
“Enough, Harold. This ends now.”
Without another word, she spun on her heel and walked away.
Emily hadn’t taken more than a few steps when she heard the thud of a door slamming shut behind her.
Immediately, she was pulled into a warm embrace, the distinct medicinal scent uniquely Harold’s enveloping her senses.
Had this happened before their divorce, she would have been thrilled. Harold had finally overcome his germaphobia and initiated physical
contact.
Yet this embrace came half a year after signing divorce papers.
Too late.
In every conceivable way, too late.
