Let bygones be bygones

Seven years after my divorce from Liam, we ran into each other by chance in a flower shop.

“Could you wrap a bouquet of white lily-of-the-valley? Fresh ones,” he said. “My wife’s pregnant. She loves them.”

I stood there, fingers digging into my half-damp canvas bag, my hair still dripping from the rain outside. The wet fabric clung to my palm like a second skin.

He was the one who noticed me first.

“Clara?” His voice was polite… distant. Like he was speaking to a former coworker.

“What a coincidence. How have you… been all these years?”

My eyes drifted to the lilies in his hands.