The next morning, a bouquet of peonies waited outside my apartment.
On the third morning, they were deep pink with larger buds.
On the fourth, white peonies were crowded together inside clear wrapping.
A different color appeared every day, his stubborn ritual showing no sign of ending.
Every bouquet went into the trash.
Eventually, I ran into Adrian waiting downstairs with flowers in both hands and a hopeful look on his face.
"Stop sending them."
His mouth tightened. When he spoke, his voice was quiet.
"I remember how much you loved peonies. You wanted them in our new home..."
"That was before. I like lilies now."
He tried to speak again, but I stopped him.
"There's nothing wrong with the flowers. The problem is the person sending them."
He stood in the morning light, looking w
