Chapter Thirteen
Because she couldn’t bear to throw it away, the single white rose Stroud had given Ever was still in the bud vase on her bedroom dresser. The petals were yellowed but the rose had been arrested about half way into the final bloom, leaving a classic formation that dried to elegant perfection. Only two petals had dropped and they still lay on the dresser top where they’d fallen. At that point, it looked as though the rose would maintain its frozen pose for as long as it remained on the dresser, undisturbed.
The rose was as beautiful to her like this as it was the moment Stroud gave it to her. And although Ever cherished it, somewhere along the way she’d forgotten about it. A day, or two... a week? She’d failed to notice that, at some point, the stem near the bloom lost its
