I saw her standing in front of the greeting cards. She was far enough away that she couldn’t leaf through the selection of valentines, but close enough to read the sappy sentiments.
With a melancholy look on her face, an occasional smile would threaten, only to be subdued by her sad eyes. She held her arms tightly across her chest, her unadorned left hand protectively laid over her heart.
Pulling a single, white rose from my bouquet, I silently held it out to her. Accepting it with unveiled sorrow, she closed her eyes in resigned acknowledgement of our shared loss.