The Heartbreak Of Emma Campbell (Under Major Editing)

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟓

𝐆𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐛𝐨𝐫𝐨, 𝐍𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐚 – 𝐎𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟗𝟗𝟔

The bell above the door jingled like wind chimes as Emma stepped into 𝘓𝘪𝘭𝘢𝘤 & 𝘉𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘮.

The flower shop was tucked between a thrift store and a bakery, its storefront framed with ivy vines and hanging pots spilling over with marigolds and trailing ferns. The display window had a handwritten sign that read Fall Specials – Make something bloom inside you, and just below it, a small chalkboard drawing of a girl holding sunflowers.

The interior was warm and damp, fragrant in a way that reminded Emma of childhood picnics in Central Park with her mother—back when green didn’t feel like something stolen.

Potted mums in rust and gold sat on wooden crates by the front. Buckets of roses, carnations, and tulips lined the far wall. Bouquets wrapped in brown paper were clipped with clothespins on a drying rack overhead, swaying gently in the breeze from a ceiling fan.

Emma blinked slowly, overcome by the colours, the scent of fresh soil and petals, and the peace.

A woman stood behind the counter arranging daisies with practised care. She was in her late sixties, with silver curls twisted into a low bun and round gold-rimmed glasses perched on the edge of her nose. Her apron was smudged with pollen, and a pencil was tucked behind her ear. She looked like someone who had spent her whole life coaxing things into bloom.

“You’re new,” the woman said without looking up. Her voice was warm, gentle but firm. “Not from around here, I’d wager.”

Emma swallowed. “No, ma’am.”

“You sound like the city.” Now the woman looked at her, gaze direct but not unkind. “Not the accent. The eyes. All that quiet noise in them.”

Emma didn't know how to respond to that. Her hands curled into the sleeves of her sweater again, her shoulders instinctively tucking in.

The woman wiped her hands and stepped around the counter, not too close, just enough to matter. “I’m Miss Darlene. Owner, florist, former therapist, and professional reader of souls.”

Emma offered a soft smile. “Emma.”

“Well, Emma,” Darlene said with a tilt of her head, “what kind of flower does today feel like?”

Emma blinked. She wasn’t sure anyone had ever asked her that.

“I don’t… I’ve never bought flowers for myself.”

“Then it’s about time, don’t you think?” Darlene walked to a nearby bucket and pulled out a single stem. A white lily, petals slightly curled but soft and fragrant. “Here. This one’s for grief. But also for grace.”

Emma hesitated, reaching out as if the flower might shatter in her hands. She took it gently. The stem was cool against her fingers.

Darlene stepped back, watching her.

“You don’t have to explain why you’re here, honey. This town’s got plenty of space for people carrying invisible things.”

Emma's voice was barely a whisper. “Does everyone see it?”

“Not everyone knows what to look for.” Darlene turned toward a stack of brown paper wrap. “But the ones who’ve hurt like that? We recognise our own.”

Emma lowered her gaze to the lily. The bloom looked too beautiful to be held by someone like her. But she didn’t let go.

“How much do I owe you?” she asked.

Darlene shook her head. “Call it a welcome gift.”

Emma blinked hard, lips trembling before she could stop them.

Darlene reached out slowly, resting a hand over Emma’s. “You don’t have to earn kindness, sweetheart. Just let yourself accept it.”

Emma nodded.

Then, quietly—like a breath she hadn’t meant to release—she said, “My mom used to love lilies.”

Darlene gave her hand the lightest squeeze. “Then I’m sure she’d love seeing one in yours.”

Emma walked out of Lilac & Bloom moments later with the flower tucked into her coat pocket, petals brushing against her wrist. The afternoon sun warmed her shoulders, and for the first time in a long while, she didn’t feel invisible.

She walked slowly down the street, past the café, the bakery, the bookstore she hadn't noticed before, and then back toward the neighbourhood. A child giggled across the road. Somewhere, a wind chime played a five-note song.

As she crossed the front lawn of her aunt’s house, the screen door opened.

Annabelle leaned against the frame, sipping from a chipped mug. “Where’d you go?”

Emma paused. “Nowhere really. Just… walked.”

Annabelle looked at the lily in her hand and smiled, slowly and widely. “Looks like somewhere to me.”

Emma glanced down at the bloom, at the way it curved toward the light like it trusted there would always be more of it.

She stepped past her cousin and into the house that no longer felt like a stranger.