When the bouquet was finished, she insisted there was no charge, just as she had years before. This time, I placed my wallet on the counter. “No,” I said gently.
“This time, it’s my turn to give something back.” As I stepped outside into the sunlight, petals in hand, I felt warmth where grief had once weighed heavily. In that moment, I realized kindness doesn’t just heal a moment; sometimes it quietly takes root, waiting years to bloom again—just like the daisies I once thought I had stolen, but had always been given with love.
