Tamara
I was cutting roses for her room when the trouble arrived.
I worked the shears through the thick green stems while doing my best to avoid the nasty thorns. The old Lily wouldn’t have noticed a rose if you’d put it in her soup, but this one drifted to them. She’d stand at the wall in the mornings with her tea going cold in her hand and just look. Her eyes would go dreamy and she would tilt her head to one side like she was listening to something the rest of us couldn’t hear.
So I cut them for her now. I left a jar of them on her nightstand, and changed it every few days. She never mentioned it and neither did I, but I saw the way she smiled when she touched the petals in the morning.
It was just a small thing I did, because I’d finally been given a person worth doing things for.
