I bought a rose for my daughter about twelve Valentine’s Days ago, now. It looked sweetly hysterical in the vase she chose. She wouldn’t let me throw it away when it died.
What about this rose? The rose the boy is holding as he stands at our front door? Would she treasure it like mine?
My breath comes fast. Please, I beg silently, don’t take my little girl away from me.
She looks at him for a minute. “I’m… sorry,” she says, hesitating. “I have a date with my dad tonight. Maybe… can I get you a glass of water?”
Nicely written. I'm pretty sure I know the people who inspired this. :)
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