When Daniel left for what was supposed to be a simple week-long business trip, I expected the house to feel a little too quiet and maybe a little lonely. We had been married for eleven years, and while I missed him whenever he traveled, his work trips were nothing unusual. He kissed me goodbye at the door, promised he would call every night, and told me not to worry if his schedule changed. I even joked that I would probably enjoy the peace and order for a few days before missing his terrible coffee-making and louder-than-necessary phone calls. Nothing about that morning felt strange at all. Nothing about it warned me that by the end of the week, I would be sitting in my dining room surrounded by flowers and fear. The first bouquet arrived the very next morning, and the sight of it changed everything.
When I opened the front door, a delivery man was standing there with the largest arrangement of blue roses I had ever seen. There were exactly forty of them, arranged so carefully that they looked almost unreal. I had never even seen blue roses in person before, and for a brief moment, I thought Daniel had arranged some romantic surprise before leaving. There was no card, only a delivery slip with my name printed neatly across the top. I smiled to myself and carried the flowers inside, already imagining how proud Daniel would be when I thanked him that evening. It felt like the kind of sweet, unexpected gesture he would make if he wanted to brighten my week. But when I called him later that day, his response made my smile fade.