My throat tightened.
I had never known that.
“She must have passed that love to you,” she said. “And now… you’re starting your own life.”
She finished the bouquet, tying it with a white ribbon.
“No charge,” she said with a soft smile. “For old times.”
But this time, I placed money on the counter.
“No,” I said gently. “Now it’s my turn.”
She smiled warmly.
“Your mother would be proud.”
Outside, sunlight fell across the daisies in my hands.
I paused, breathing in their soft scent.
For the first time in years, the pain felt lighter.
Instead, there was warmth—like my mother was still with me.
And I understood something.
Kindness doesn’t just heal in the moment.
Sometimes, it quietly grows… waiting years to bloom again.
Just like those daisies I once thought I had taken—
but were always given with love.
