The scent of roses always made Amelia uneasy now.
It had once signaled love — soft petals on the bed, muted laughter by candlelight. Now it signaled apology. It signaled the aftermath of slammed doors and shattered words.
She stood in the kitchen, hands on the cold marble counter, looking at the dozen red roses Daniel had left there that morning. Twelve of them, perfect, arranged so tidily as if Daniel didn't understand she preferred white roses.
A note had been left with them, folded once, neat and deliberate.
"You know I hate it when we argue. Let's not lose another evening"
— D
Her chest tightened. It was the same note he'd written after the last fight, and the one before that. The handwriting never changed. Neither did the pattern.
The soft click of the front door broke her thoughts.
Daniel's voice filled the silence — smooth, deep, commanding. "You're still up."
"I was waiting," Amelia said softly, trying to make her voice sound carefree. She turned, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. "You promised dinner."
He smiled, but it fell a bit short of his eyes. "I got stuck at the office. You know how it is."
She did. He'd reminded her a hundred times. The office — an office that engulfed him more and more these days. An office that caught a whiff of expensive perfume that wasn't hers.
"I heated your plate," she said, lifting the lid from a neatly set dinner. "Roasted chicken, your favorite."
He loosened his tie, gazing at the food but not eating. "You didn't need to make such a big deal about it."
Her heart plummeted. "It wasn't a big deal."
Daniel sighed and rubbed his temples, the action conditioned. "Amelia, you can't keep making everything about me. I said I was tired."
There it was — the switch. The measured tone she knew all too well.
A minute ago, she was the doting wife. Now she was the problem.
"I'm sorry," she murmured, her voice barely a whisper.
He looked at her for a long moment, something flickering behind his gaze — not anger exactly, but disdain disguised as disappointment. Then he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead.
"Good girl," he said softly. "Try to get some rest."
The words sent a shiver through her, small but biting. Once long ago, that tone had comforted her. Now it was a chain.
He disappeared up the stairs, leaving behind the faint scent of his aftershave and the heaviness of the silence. Amelia stood there, her heart going tick after tick but hollowly.
The clock ticked. The house was filled with the sort of stillness that only arises when something inside it is perishing.
She sat at the table, looking at the vacant chair opposite her, and spoke softly to no one, "When did I stop being enough?"
Outside, the roses in the vase leaned slightly under the whir of the air conditioner — flawless, red, and withering from the inside out.