I remember standing beside his mother, Colleen, at the funeral, holding her hand as they lowered Adrian into the ground.
She squeezed my fingers so hard it hurt.
Neither of us said much.
There was nothing helpful to say.
Afterwards, people kept approaching me in hushed tones.
They hugged me, told me Adrian loved me, and promised that things would get easier with time.
I nodded because I didn’t know what else to do.
I thought that had been the worst day of my life.
Three months later, I realized I was wrong.
I’m a florist.
Before Adrian passed away, weddings had always been my favorite jobs.
I loved arriving before the guests, when the venues still looked unfinished. I loved watching empty rooms slowly transform into settings for celebration.
Flowers could change everything.
A simple table became romantic with the right centerpiece.
A cold ballroom turned into a warm space thanks to greenery and candlelight. A nervous bride could relax the moment someone placed a bouquet in her hands.
After Adrian died, I couldn’t even look at a bridal bouquet without thinking of the one I’d chosen for myself.
I stopped taking wedding jobs.
For weeks, I handled birthdays, corporate events, and wakes.
Anything but weddings.
Even hearing someone say the word “fiancé” gave me a knot in my stomach.
But in the end, I had to pay the bills.
Grief didn’t pay the rent.
It didn’t cover suppliers or keep my shop running.
So, three months after his funeral, I finally agreed to take on wedding jobs again.
I told myself the work might help.
That morning, another florist I sometimes worked with called to say she was sick and asked if I could cover a wedding in her place. She sounded very sad.
“I know it’s last-minute,” she said. “I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t really need you.”
I looked around my shop.
Buckets full of roses sat near the cooler.
My assistant was already organizing the deliveries.
Every part of me wanted to say no.
“I’ll do it,” I said.
A few hours later, I was arranging flowers at an event venue where I’d never worked before when I saw a familiar woman near the entrance.
Muchacha.
For a second, I thought grief was playing another trick on me.
Then she turned slightly.
It was definitely her.
I was about to call out to her.
Then she saw me.
Her expression shifted from neither sadness nor surprise to something resembling fear.
She immediately turned around and disappeared down a side hallway.
That was strange.
Colleen and I hadn’t spoken much since Adrian died, but why would she hide from me?
I followed her.
“Muchacha?”
She stopped.
For a second, she stared right at me.
“Meredith?”
“What exactly are you doing here right now?”
She looked nervous.
“I could ask you the same thing.”
“I’m working. I’m the florist.”
“Here?”
“Yes. Why?”
Before she could answer, a wedding planner hurried over to us.
“Ms. Colleen, we’ve been looking for you everywhere. The groom needs his mother.”
I stared at Colleen.
For a moment, that seemed to explain everything.
Adrian had an older brother, Julian.
Of course.
This must be his wedding.
Julian and I had always gotten along.
He was quieter than Adrian, but he was kind to me.
On holidays, he was usually the one who helped me carry dishes to the kitchen while the others argued about football. I won’t lie; it hurt a little that I hadn’t been invited.
But since Adrian’s death, I had barely spoken to his family.
Maybe they thought a wedding would be too painful for me.
Maybe Julian had decided that seeing him standing at the altar would remind me too much of everything I’d lost.
I tried not to take it personally.
Then I noticed the corsage she was wearing on her wrist.
I had arranged it myself that morning.
It was for the groom’s mother.
Colleen glanced at me and immediately followed the coordinator.
I watched her walk away.
I still felt like something wasn’t right.
I told myself that explained her strange behavior.
Maybe she simply felt uncomfortable seeing me there.
Maybe she thought I’d be angry.
Maybe she felt guilty that Julian was getting married just three months after Adrian’s funeral.
I forced myself to get back to work.
There were still a few preparations to finish. The candles needed to be set up. The ceremony flowers needed a final check.
A few minutes later, I saw her near the groom’s room.
This time, I almost walked away.
Of course she was there. Her son was getting married.
Even so, something about the way she moved unsettled me.
She glanced around before going inside.
Then I heard the…
