Chapter 2

The next morning, Eric and I stood side by side in front of the courthouse, like two strangers who barely knew each other.

He was dressed sharply in a crisp white shirt and black slacks, with every strand of hair combed neatly.

He looked like he was headed to an important business meeting, not a divorce proceeding.

All I had with me was a single suitcase I'd packed the night before.

Ten years of my life were folded up inside it, along with whatever was left of my broken heart.

Eric broke the silence first, his tone flat and casual. "You got everything you need?"

I nodded without looking at him. "Yeah."

My eyes drifted to the ground a few feet away, where a sparrow hopped around, pecking at crumbs.

Even that little bird had more freedom than I did.

He spoke again, "So, any plans for what's next?"

I forced the corners of my mouth into something that wasn't quite a smile. The question was almost funny. "Don't worry about it."

That shut him down, and he didn't say another word.

The suffocating silence between us settled back in like it had never left.

While we waited for the doors to open, he pulled out his phone and started scrolling through work emails.

His fingers moved fast across the screen, and a small crease formed between his brows.

It hit me then, out of nowhere. Ten years ago, when we first got married, he wasn't like this.

He used to come home from work and hold me on the couch, telling me every funny little thing that happened during his day.

He used to bring me Advil and a heating pad when my cramps were bad, fumbling around the kitchen like he'd never been in one before.

He used to stand between Margaret and me whenever she gave me a hard time and tell her, "Mom, Nora is my wife. Show her some respect."

When did everything change?

Maybe it started around year three, when I still hadn't gotten pregnant.

Maybe it was when Margaret's complaints grew louder and more frequent, and Eric's defense of me grew weaker every time.

Maybe it was after all those trips to the doctor, where they kept telling me nothing was wrong with my body, but we still couldn't conceive.

All the warmth we once shared had been ground down to nothing by years of disappointment and pressure.

The only thing left between us was the bone-deep exhaustion of two people who couldn't stand the sight of each other anymore.

The courthouse doors creaked open.

We were the first couple in line.

The clerk behind the counter had clearly seen it all before. Her face showed nothing.

The whole process moved fast.

We signed the papers and pressed our fingerprints into the ink.

The moment the finalized divorce certificate was handed to us, I heard Eric let out a quiet breath of relief.

It was barely a sound, but I caught every bit of it.

And it cut through me like a knife.

The sunlight hit me the moment I stepped out of the courthouse.

I raised my hand to shield my eyes.

Eric stood by his car and asked politely, "Need a ride?"

I shook my head. "No, I'm good. I'll walk."

He hesitated, like he wanted to say something more. "Well, you—"

I cut him off before he could finish. "Eric, let's just go our separate ways."

I grabbed my suitcase, turned around, and walked away without looking back. Because I knew if I turned around, the tears would come.

Behind me, I heard his engine start, and then the rush of wind as he drove off.

He was gone. Faster than I was.

I dragged my suitcase down the street with no idea where I was going.

The city was huge and buzzing with life, but not a single light in it was on for me.

I had nowhere to go.

My parents died when I was little, and my grandma raised me after that.

But she passed away a few years ago, too.

Now I was truly alone in this world.

I checked into a budget motel for the night.

I lay on the unfamiliar bed, breathing in the sharp smell of bleach, and I didn't sleep at all.

I couldn't stop thinking about the past.

Not about Eric, and not about the home we'd shared.

I missed the girl who used to throw herself into love without thinking twice.

That version of Nora was such a fool.

The next day, I used what little savings I had to rent a small studio on the outskirts of town.

The place was old, but the sunlight that poured through the windows made up for it.

I scrubbed every inch of it clean and bought a bunch of sunflowers to put in a vase.

The bright yellow petals lifted my spirits more than I expected.

I needed a job.

I scrolled through every listing I could find, and my eyes finally landed on a posting from a flower shop.

It read: [Florist assistant wanted. No experience required.]

I had always loved flowers and plants.

Back when I lived with the Johnsons, I had filled the balcony with all kinds of greenery.

Margaret always said I was wasting space and had better things to do.

Then, one by one, every plant died from her little "accidents."

And a piece of me died right along with them.

But now, I could start over.

I decided to give it a shot and walked into the flower shop.

The place was called Petal & Vine, tucked away on a quiet side street with a warm, tasteful interior.

The owner was a gentle-looking woman who asked me a few simple questions and offered me a trial run on the spot.

Just like that, my new life began.

Working at the shop was healing in ways I hadn't expected.

Every day, I spent my time surrounded by beautiful blooms, trimming stems and wrapping bouquets.

Customers walked in carrying the weight of the world, but they always left with armfuls of flowers and lighter hearts.

Slowly, I found myself smiling again for the first time in what felt like forever.

*****

One afternoon, a man walked into the shop who stood out from my usual customers.

He wore a perfectly tailored suit, and everything about him radiated quiet confidence. He looked like the kind of man who was used to being in charge.

He greeted me with a low, smooth voice. "Hi, I'd like to order a bouquet."

I smiled and asked, "Of course, sir. Who's it for? And do you have anything specific in mind?"

He paused for a moment, then said, "It's for me, actually."

I blinked, caught off guard.

He let out a soft laugh and explained, "Today's the anniversary of my mother's passing. I want to get a bouquet of white roses. They were her favorite."

Something stirred in my chest, and I felt a quiet warmth toward him.

This was a man who loved deeply and held on to the people who mattered to him.

I handpicked the freshest white roses I could find and wrapped them with extra care.

I handed him the bouquet and said, "All set, sir."

He took the flowers and thanked me. His eyes were gentle, but there was a quiet strength behind them.

From that day on, he became a regular.

Sometimes he came in to buy flowers, and other times he just stopped by to sit for a while and chat.

I learned that his name was Owen Grant, and he owned an architectural firm.

He learned about me, too, including my failed marriage.

I expected him to look at me the way everyone else did, with pity in his eyes. But he didn't. He just listened, really listened, and then he said, "Nora, that wasn't your fault."

He looked at me and added, "You shouldn't have spent ten years punishing yourself for someone else's mistakes."

In that moment, my eyes welled up with tears.

In ten years, he was the first person who ever told me it wasn't my fault.