A courier stood outside, slightly breathless, clearly inconvenienced by whatever he had been tasked to deliver.

“You might want to come downstairs,” he said. “I can’t move them alone.”

Confused, she followed him outside.

The moment she stepped onto the driveway, she stopped.

It was completely covered in flowers.

Not a few bouquets. Not something subtle or accidental. It was deliberate—dense, overwhelming, almost theatrical in its scale. The entire garage entrance was filled with them, as if someone had decided that silence needed to be answered with excess.

The courier handed her a small envelope.

“There’s a note,” he said.

Inside, there was only one sentence.

“I’m so glad my brother screwed up.”

She didn’t need a name. She already knew exactly who it was from.

Nathan Hayes.

She stood there for a long time, looking at the flowers, trying to make sense of what she was feeling. It wasn’t gratitude. It wasn’t anger either. It was something more complicated—uneasy, alert, unsettled in a way that didn’t quite settle anywhere.

The courier shifted awkwardly beside her. “So… I guess I’ll head off?”

She nodded without really registering him leaving.

Eventually, she cleared enough of the driveway to get her car out. It took longer than it should have, her thoughts circling the same question again and again: why would Nathan do something like this?

And why did it feel less like closure… and more like the beginning of something else?

Later that day, she drove to his house.

Nathan Hayes opened the door almost immediately, as if he had been waiting.

He leaned casually against the frame, arms crossed, completely at ease, watching her with an expression that suggested he already knew exactly why she was there.

A slow smile formed on his face.

“Got my flowers, little one?”