A Bitter Marriage Contract
It was common for motorcyclists to pass through that street, the deep roar of their engines echoing.
Upon entering the small flower shop, she was greeted warmly.
“Good afternoon, Miss Elizabeth,” said Mr. Carter, a middle-aged florist with a thick mustache and a kind gaze. His hands were stained with soil, and his nails were clean but short. “How have you been?”
“Very well, Mr. Carter. Thank you for asking.”
“And what would you like today?”
Elizabeth scanned the shelves filled with colorful vases. Her eyes lit up when she spotted a lone tulip in a white ceramic vase. Next to it, a bouquet of wildflowers caught her attention, with small white daisies mixed with green stems.