It had been days since the café.
Days since the sharp clatter of breaking porcelain, coffee splashed, since hearts fractured in public silence, since the image of Joseph sitting with another woman stamped itself onto Anna's memory like heat against skin.
Days of silence at first. Then apologies. Then more apologies. Then more.
Joseph had cried the second day he came to her place.
Not loud, broken sobs, just quiet tears that came when his voice failed him.
He didn't justify himself this time. Didn't defend himself. Didn't call it a misunderstanding.
He simply said:
"I was stupid. I hurt you. I won't do it again."
And for once, he sounded like a man terrified of losing something he never believed he could lose.
The flowers started the next day. Yes he was used to bringing flowers but this somehow feels different.
First day one rose.
Then three.
Then a small bouquet.
Then a large one.
Then another.
Every morning. Every evening. Every time she opened her door.
