Three years later, I was running a modest flower shop in a small, sun-drenched coastal town down south. The weather was beautiful, and the ocean breeze carried a crisp, salty tang.Even though I hadn't completely recovered from my illness and still struggled with my memory every now and then, I made sure to water the plants every morning and neatly prune the thorns off the roses.Most importantly, Isabelle was right there beside me, helping me move the heavy planters.The dangerous air that used to radiate off of her was completely gone, replaced by tender affection."Theodore, you doing okay? Go grab a glass of water," she said with a smile, wiping the sweat from her brow.I shook my head and pointed toward the front of the shop. "Isabelle, that strange lady is back again."Right outside our door, under the shade of a sycamore tree, sat a homeless woman.Her hair was prematurely gray and matted, her skin was caked in grime, and she wore a tattered shirt.She came by every sing
Read more
LOGIN
