LENATHE FOLLOWING DAY AT WORK, the deliveries began—and they didn’t stop. Bouquets of roses in waves of color: red, pink, yellow. Every hour, without fail, another dozen would arrive at my desk. At first, I didn’t understand why Christian was doing it. But eventually, it clicked. It was the story I’d shared about my father and the rose ceremony. That memory I’d buried. A card had come loose from the first bouquet—one I hadn’t noticed until later. The message, scribbled in simple pen, read: These are long overdue. The weight in my chest tightened, filling with a blend of warmth and ache I couldn’t quite name.That evening, we were supposed to attend the gala together. I’d been dreading it all week—completely out of my comfort zone. I felt that nervous buzz in my belly from the moment I stepped into the office. During lunch, I swung by Bergdorf’s and held two formal dresses at the counter, unable to decide between them.Returning to the office, I found a takeout container on my desk, t
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