I wait for her to leave, then start toward the door only to stop in front of my vanity and look at the crystal vase holding a single yellow rose. Usually, I donate all the flowers I get after a performance to the children’s hospital. This is the only one I kept. I reach out with my hand and trace the long thornless stem wrapped in a yellow silk ribbon with gold details. There has been one left for me after every performance for the past six months. No message. No signature. Nothing. Well, this is the last one I’ll ever get.
I exit my room and head downstairs to the furthest part of the house where my father’s and brother’s offices are situated. The dull pain in my back is almost gone now, but I stopped deluding myself that it was just a passing thing months ago. I will never be able to w
