Chapter 200: The Statement

Bloom House Floral had never felt small to Lillian until Beatrice Whitmore stepped inside it.

The bell chimed as it always did, soft and unassuming. Lillian looked up from the counter, expecting one of her regulars. Instead, she found Beatrice standing just inside the doorway, gloved hands folded, posture composed with ceremonial care.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

The shop was midmorning quiet. Sunlight filtered through the front windows, catching on glass vases and the pale petals of early camellias. The air smelled green and clean, damp stems and citrus leaves. Familiar. Grounding.

Beatrice removed her gloves slowly, as if acknowledging a threshold.

“You keep it exactly as you did,” she said.