Chapter 2

I got up and started my morning routine. By noon, I began to receive birthday emails from various brand websites where I’m subscribed.

That’s when I remembered—it’s my birthday today.

I stared blankly at the withered roses on the coffee table, recalling how three years ago today, it was 18-year-old Adam who first confessed his love to me.

Back then, Adam had just started college and was being bullied while working part-time at my company. I helped him out. He looked at me with idolizing eyes, following me everywhere. I found it annoying and ended up having him help me with work directly.

The Adam of that time was innocent and sincere. He would steal glances at me, and when I looked back, he’d quickly turn away, his ears slowly turning red.

When other boys in the part-time job tried to win me over, Adam would get anxious, sticking close to me like a wolf guarding its territory.

Occasionally, when our bodies accidentally brushed, he’d blush shyly.

On my 32nd birthday, he showed up with a huge bouquet of my favorite roses and a birthday cake. The bashful yet determined look in his eyes, he said he loved me.

I told him we had a big age gap and needed to think about it.

Adam was filled with unease for those few days.

When I finally said yes, he shouted in excitement. He hugged me tightly, his deep voice in my ear, “Every birthday of yours from now on will be our anniversary, and I’ll always be there.”

My phone kept buzzing with birthday wishes from family, friends, and even colleagues. But not a single message from Adam.

I got up and threw the wilted flowers from the vase into the trash. Things that have gone bad shouldn’t be kept. That applies to both flowers and people.