20

On Monday morning I come into work to find a big bouquet of peachy coloured dahlias on my desk. They’re beautiful, with a faintly sweet fragrance.

I wondered who they could be from. I doubted Jay, because I didn’t tell him where I worked even though we spent Friday night and all of Saturday in my bed. My brother isn’t the type to send flowers, my father certainly isn’t. And I doubted Caleb would, because that would be highly inappropriate.

The card pegged to the arrangement read: ‘The house feels empty without you, flower. I miss you so much. Mum xxx’

I sighed and slumped into my chair.

I didn’t hate my mother. She was a good mum, she’d raised me, and I knew she loved me. But she was content living under my father’s thumb, and that made it difficult to trust her. I had divorced from my father—that was our deal. If I didn’t agree to marry his choice for me, then I’d be disowned. I chose to be disowned. My father would no longer acknowledge me. He’d tried to impress this upon my mother