PART 1 — THE ROSES WITHOUT A NAME
The bouquet arrived shortly after noon.
One hundred yellow roses.
I had just finished rinsing my coffee cup when the doorbell echoed through the quiet house. My husband, Daniel, was supposedly away on a week-long business trip, so I was not expecting anyone.
When I opened the door, a deliveryman stood behind an enormous wall of golden flowers.
“Amber?”
“Yes.”
“These are for you.”
The bouquet was so heavy that I had to grip it with both arms. The roses were flawless, their petals glowing beneath the afternoon light.
“Someone must really want to impress you,” the deliveryman said.
I searched between the flowers for a card.
There was none.
“No message?”
He checked the small florist label.
“Only your name.”
At first, I smiled.
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