Those were the moments I kept returning to later. Not the big plans. Not the guest list or the flowers. I remembered his laugh, the way he leaned against the counter, and how certain I had been that we had years ahead of us.
Then, six weeks before our wedding, Dominic died in a car accident.
There was no warning. No final conversation. No chance to say anything important. One day, I was deciding where to seat his difficult uncle. The next, I was identifying Dominic’s belongings.
The crash was so bad that we buried him in a closed casket. I remember standing beside his mother, Evelyn, at the funeral, holding her hand while they lowered Dominic into the ground. She squeezed my fingers so hard they hurt. Neither of us said much. There wasn’t anything useful to say.
People kept coming up to me afterward, quietly. They hugged me, told me Dominic loved me, and promised that time would make things easier. I nodded because I didn’t know what else to do. I thought that was the worst day of my life. Three months later, I learned I was wrong.
I’m a florist. Before Dominic died, weddings had always been my favorite jobs. I loved arriving before the guests, when venues still felt unfinished. I loved watching empty rooms slowly become celebrations. Flowers could change everything. A plain table became romantic with the right centerpiece. A cold ballroom became warm with greenery and candlelight. A nervous bride could relax the second someone placed a bouquet in her hands.
After Dominic died, I couldn’t even look at a bridal bouquet without thinking about the one I’d chosen for myself. I stopped accepting weddings. For weeks, I handled birthdays, corporate events, and sympathy arrangements instead. Anything but weddings. Even hearing someone say the word “fiancé” could make my stomach tighten.
But eventually, I had bills to pay. Grief did not stop rent from being due. It didn’t pay suppliers or keep my shop running. So three months after his funeral, I finally agreed to start taking wedding jobs again. I told myself work might help.
That morning, another florist I sometimes worked with called in sick and asked if I could cover a wedding for her. She sounded miserable. “I know it’s last minute,” she said. “I wouldn’t ask unless I really needed you.” I looked around my shop. Buckets of roses sat near the cooler. My assistant was already organizing deliveries. Every part of me wanted to say no. “I’ll do it,” I said.
A few hours later, I was arranging flowers at a reception venue I’d never worked at before when I saw a familiar woman near the entrance. Evelyn. For a second, I thought grief was playing another trick on me. Then she turned slightly. It was definitely her. I almost called out to her. Then she saw me. Her expression shifted from neither sadness nor surprise into something resembling fear. She immediately turned away and disappeared down a side hallway.
That was strange. Evelyn and I hadn’t spoken much since Dominic died, but why would she hide from me? I followed her. “Evelyn?” She stopped. For a second, she just stared at me. “Audrey?” “What exactly are you doing here right now?” She looked nervous. “I could ask you the same thing.” “I’m working. I’m the florist.” “Here?” “Yes. Why?”
Before she could answer, a wedding coordinator hurried toward us. “Ms. Evelyn, we’ve been looking everywhere for you. The groom needs his mother.”
I stared at Evelyn. For a moment, that seemed to explain everything. Dominic had an older brother, Nathan. Of course. This must be his wedding. Nathan and I had always gotten along well. He had been quieter than Dominic, but he was kind to me. At holidays, he was usually the person helping me carry dishes into the kitchen while everyone else argued over football. I won’t lie — it hurt a little that he hadn’t invited me. But after Dominic’s death, I’d barely spoken to his family. Maybe they thought a wedding would be too painful for me. Maybe Nathan had decided that seeing him stand at an altar would remind me too much of everything I’d lost. I tried not to take it personally.
Then I noticed the corsage on her wrist. I’d made it myself that morning. It was for the groom’s mother.
Evelyn glanced at me, then quickly followed the coordinator away. I watched her leave. Something still felt wrong. I told myself that explained her strange behavior. Maybe she’d simply felt awkward seeing me here. Maybe she thought I would be upset. Maybe she felt guilty that Nathan was getting married only three months after Dominic’s funeral.
