Penny's POV
I stepped back into my apartment, the silence pressing against me like a weight I couldn't shake. The image of Bernie disappearing around the corner replayed in my mind on an endless loop. His rigid posture, those measured steps, the way his eyes had searched mine in those final moments before he turned away.
My feet carried me directly to the kitchen. I pulled a crystal vase from the cabinet and filled it with cool water, my movements automatic and precise.
The bouquet of crimson roses felt impossibly heavy between my fingers.
As I trimmed each stem with surgical precision, arranging the velvet petals just so, the questions multiplied in my head like a plague I couldn't cure. What had driven Bernie to choose these particular flowers? Why did they trigger something deep in my memory the instant I saw them? And why had his presence in my space left me feeling like I'd been turned inside out?
