A Choice of Flowers [POV: Abigail]
The scent of fresh roses fills my office the moment I step inside. Sunlight filters through the blinds, casting soft golden light over my desk, where a delicate bouquet of pink roses sits in a crystal vase. My name is printed neatly on a small envelope, the edges pressed perfectly flat, as if the sender had taken great care to ensure it arrived in flawless condition.
I already know who they’re from before I even open the card.
For an amazing woman who deserves the best. Looking forward to dinner.
A smile tugs at my lips as I run my fingers over the ink. Nate has always been thoughtful, never overbearing, never demanding. Just steady, patient, kind. A good man. Someone who, in another life, I would’ve fallen for easily. Someone who, even now, I should be falling for.
Instead, I find myself staring at the flowers a little too long, my mind drifting somewhere it shouldn’t.
“He’s smooth,” Evie remarks from the doorway, arms crossed over her chest, a knowing smirk tugging at her lips. Her scrubs are slightly wrinkled, her hair twisted into a messy bun, but her blue eyes are sharp as ever.
I shake my head, setting the card down. “It’s just flowers.”
Evie snorts. “Flowers from a guy who clearly likes you.”
“They don’t mean anything.”
She lifts a brow, unconvinced. “Abigail.”
I sigh, rubbing a hand across my forehead. “Nate’s great, Evie. He’s kind, funny… good.”
Evie watches me carefully, waiting for me to continue. When I don’t, she tilts her head. “But?”
There it is. The hesitation. The part I don’t want to admit, not even to myself.
But he’s not Vincent.
The thought makes my stomach twist. I don’t want it to be true, but no matter how hard I try, no matter how much I push forward, Vincent is always there—lingering in the back of my mind, in the memories I don’t want to revisit, in the ache that still hasn’t fully faded.
Evie must see something in my expression because she exhales, shaking her head. “Look, Aby, I’m just saying… you deserve someone who actually chooses you. No baggage, no bullshit, just someone who sees you and doesn’t take you for granted.”
Before I can respond, there’s a soft knock at the door. One of the nurses steps in, balancing another bouquet in her arms. This one is bigger—full, breathtaking white peonies wrapped in elegant cream-colored paper.
I freeze.
Evie doesn’t.
She lets out an exasperated groan the second she sees them. “Oh, hell no.” She turns to me, hands on her hips. “Aby, please don’t tell me you’re accepting that.”
I don’t move. My heart hammers against my ribs as I reach for the small card tucked between the stems.
I already know who they’re from.
Vincent.
Because of course he remembers.
He always knew.
Evie studies my face, her expression softening. “Does he even know? About the baby?”
I don’t answer right away. Instead, I stare at the flowers, at the memories they bring rushing back.
Vincent doesn’t know that while he was chasing a lie
And maybe he never should.
The air between us grows heavy. Evie, as usual, doesn’t press. She just watches, waiting for me to decide.
After a long moment, I take the vase and carefully set it aside. I don’t throw it away, don’t send it back. I just move it.
Because no matter how much I try to move on, some things refuse to stay buried.
