The morning sunlight filtered through the windows of the shop, casting warm streaks across the counter where I worked. The familiar scent of roses and lilies filled the air, a comforting backdrop to the quiet hum of the day.
Dad had been unusually tired lately, but he insisted on helping with the morning deliveries. He always said it gave him purpose. I tried to push the worry aside, telling myself he just needed rest. He’d been stubborn about going to the doctor, brushing off every suggestion I made.
“It’s just old age, Angel,” he’d say with a tired smile. “I’ve been running on fumes for years.”
I sighed, brushing the dirt from my hands as I finished repotting a plant. “Dad?” I called out, glancing toward the back room. “Did you finish with the hydrangeas?”
No answer.
Frowning, I set
