“Congratulations, dear. What kind?”
“Daisies,” I answered immediately.
As she wrapped them, I spoke softly.
“You once let a little girl take flowers without paying. They were for her mother’s grave.”
Her hands stopped.
She looked up slowly.
“That was you?”
I nodded.
Her eyes filled with tears.
“I knew your mother,” she said quietly. “And your grandmother too. They were kind to me when I first opened this shop.”
She gently touched the daisies.
“Your mother came every Sunday. She always chose daisies—said they reminded her of home.”
My throat tightened.
I had never known that.
“She must have passed that love to you,” she said. “And now… you’re starting your own life.”
She finished the bouquet, tying it with a white ribbon.
“No charge,” she said with a soft smile. “For old times.”
But this time, I placed money on the counter.
“No,” I said gently. “Now it’s my turn.”
She smiled warmly.
“Your mother would be proud.”
Outside, sunlight fell across the daisies in my hands.
I paused, breathing in their soft scent.
For the first time in years, the pain felt lighter.
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