Monica's POV
The weight of my exhaustion hung like an anchor around my neck. Each day dragged into the next as I immersed myself in work, spending every spare moment with my son and friends. Sleep eluded me, leaving dark shadows beneath my eyes that resembled bruises against my pale skin.
When I pushed open my office door that morning, the sweet scent of fresh tulips immediately caught my attention. The vibrant arrangement sat on the small table, accompanied by a card bearing Morris's distinctive handwriting:
"I would die for you and I'm going crazy without you. I would do anything to keep you from suffering."
My heart constricted at his words, but before I could fully process them, something else caught my eye. On the opposite table stood another floral arrangement that sent chills down my spine. These weren't celebratory blooms but rather somber, funeral-worthy flowers, their presence both ominous and intrusive in my workspace.
