*A Bouquet of Daisies in November*
Emily tightened her dressing gown and stepped to the window. Barely any leaves clung to the trees. A thin, pale frost dusted the withered grass and the roof of the neighbouring house. Last evening, rain had drizzled, and by nightfall, the chill had set in. A cold, gloomy November—the bleak prelude to an endless winter.
Emily sighed. The melancholy outside mirrored the ache in her heart. Another weekend alone stretched ahead. Just her and the emptiness.
***
That November had been no different. During her lunch break, Emily had dashed to the café across from her office, where they sold takeaway meals. She and her colleagues took turns making the run. A faint rain misted the air, but she hadn’t bothered with an umbrella—too awkward to manage with bags of food.
The road was empty, not a car in sight. She stepped confidently onto the zebra crossing. It was a quiet street, no traffic light to govern the crossing. She never saw the SUV rounding the corner until it was too late. The screech of brakes jolted her, and she froze, shoulders hunched, hands shielding her face.
“Trying to get yourself killed? Got a death wish?” A furious voice cut through the air.
Emily lowered her hands. A tall man in an open black overcoat stood beside the car, his dark eyes blazing. His strong jaw, accentuated by a stylish stubble, made him look like something out of a dream—if not for the rage in his voice.
“You think just because you’ve got a flash car, people should dive out of your way?” she shot back. “No traffic light here. And the road was empty. I wasn’t breaking any rules—you’re the one who took that corner too fast.”
The man studied her a moment. “I *was* in a hurry. If you’re unharmed, I’ll be on my way. Sorry.” The apology was tossed over his shoulder as he strode back to the car.
Emily trembled long after—nearly run over and then shouted at! The next day, the rain had stopped. She approached the crossing cautiously, stepping onto the stripes with care.
Then—a car door slammed nearby. Instinctively, she retreated to the safety of the pavement. Out of a parked SUV stepped the same man, sauntering toward her with a grin.
“Lord, now what? Just drive past—I’ll wait,” she said, flustered by his smile.
“Sorry. I waited for you. To make up for yesterday. Fancy lunch? My treat—peace offering.” His teeth were unnervingly white.
“In a rush today?” she asked warily.
Over lunch, she forgot everything. Until she noticed the wedding band on his finger. Married. Her heart sank. He was a solicitor, a father of two girls. He asked for her number, called it immediately so she’d have his. “In case you ever need legal help,” he’d said.
She never intended to ring him. But two days later, he called. Invited her to a café across town—somewhere they’d be less likely to bump into anyone who knew him.
“Don’t want gossip,” he explained.
Somehow, he started visiting her flat. Never often, always unpredictably, never for long. Weekends stretched empty, holidays lonelier still. He’d made it clear from the start—he’d never leave his wife. His girls meant everything.
The question burned in her throat: *Then why are you here?* But she bit it back, afraid of sounding foolish, of scaring him off. She was in love. And for now, the crumbs he offered were enough.
***
Saturday morning, Emily lazed in bed. No reason to hurry. No one to dress up for. The doorbell startled her. She answered, tousled, still in her dressing gown.
James swept in like a storm, crushed her in his arms. Between kisses, he murmured he only had half an hour… When he left abruptly, she showered, then lingered again by the window. The frost had melted. The pavement gleamed wet.
*That’s it. That’s all our love is. Another stolen half-hour.* Still, her pulse raced at the memory of his touch.
How long could she live like this? No future, just fleeting moments. Sooner or later, he’d stop coming. She needed to end it—before it crushed her. But walking away was harder than she’d thought.
Midweek, he couldn’t slip away. Then, on Friday, an unexpected call.
“Darling, I’ve missed you. I’ve got an hour. Meet me at the restaurant. Traffic’s hell—take the Tube.” He rattled off the address and hung up.
Emily scrambled. Grabbed her coat, dabbed on lipstick.
“Cover for me? Toothache,” she lied to Sarah at the next desk.
Sarah smirked. “Go on, then.”
Outside, Emily buttoned her coat as she walked. Didn’t notice the old man until she bumped him. His cane clattered to the pavement.
“Sorry!” She scooped it up, handed it back.
“It’s alright. Off to see your beau?” His smile was knowing. “At your age, I ran to my sweetheart just the same. Now? No need to hurry. She’ll wait.”
Emily glanced at the four daisies in his hand. *Daisies—in November?* Then it hit her. Four—one for each year since his wife had passed.
“You’re off to the cemetery?” she asked softly.
“Aye. Used to go every day when my Margaret first went. Now my legs aren’t what they were.” His voice softened. “We loved hard, me and her. I’m glad she went first. Better than her suffering like this.”
Her phone buzzed—James, impatient. *”Where are you? I haven’t got all day.”*
She hung up. Turned it off.
The old man was shuffling toward the crossing now. The road was busy. Emily darted after him.
“Let me help.” She took his arm, guided him across. A car honked impatiently.
“Ta, love. At my age, death’s no fright,” he chuckled.
She watched him go. *That* was the love she wanted. A lifetime together. Someone who’d miss her. Bring her daisies in November.
Back at work, Sarah frowned. “That was quick.”
“Tooth’s fine now.”
At home, she saw James’s missed calls. She gripped her phone. How many times had she imagined ringing him? Him fumbling his words, his wife listening in. No. She wouldn’t do that—not to his wife.
The phone vibrated. James.
“What the hell was that? Couldn’t even call?” he snapped.
“Did you even notice I wasn’t there?” she whispered.
“Emily, what’s got into you?”
“I want a family. A husband who comes home every night. Not… this.” Her voice cracked.
“I *told* you I’d never leave her—”
“For who? Her? Or yourself?”
He sighed, exasperated. “Not this again.”
She hung up. The phone stayed silent.
Night fell. She walked, umbrella forgotten. Rain drove her under an awning.
A man paused. “Need an escort?”
His umbrella had a broken spoke. Something about that—its imperfect honesty—made her smile.
As they walked, the rain stopped.
“Fancy a bit longer? If you’ve time,” he asked, hopeful.
She smiled. “I’ve got time.”
