“What’s wrong, Dad?” Abby asked.
“Your mother put fresh flowers on the table every morning for 60 years.”
“This is for the best. We have plenty of room. No worries.”
“I know. This house is just so full of her. I can imagine her going to the garden and selecting exactly the right flowers for the day’s mood.”
“The truck will be here in a second.”
“I feel like I’m leaving her. And part of me with her.”
Abby stopped and stared. Nobody had been in or out, yet a vase of fresh flowers graced the kitchen table.
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Word count = 100