No Petals Left to Give

Back at the house Spencer and I once shared, my fingerprint was gone from the system.

A few suitcases sat by the doorstep, their contents thrown together.

This was it. Everything I'd gathered over years of loving him.

I crouched, rummaging through the mess when the door creaked open.

The door creaked open, catching me off guard.

Fiona stood there, smug. "Maya Lane, you still have the nerve to show up here? If I'd been stripped in front of everyone like you were, I'd find some quiet hole to crawl into and die of shame."

I ignored her, focused on finding the one thing I needed.

When I didn't respond, Fiona dangled something in front of me. "Looking for this?"

In her hand was a simple black hair tie, adorned with a small yellow daisy.

To anyone else, it was cheap. But I'd kept it for so long that most of the yellow paint on the daisy had chipped away, leaving it faded and speckled.

It was my most precious belonging.

"Give it back," I said, reaching for it.

She yanked it away.

"This worthless little thing? This is why you stuck around all these years? Maya, you're just like the junk you hold onto—pathetic and cheap."

She tugged sharply at the hair tie, snapping it in two, then tossed the pieces to the ground.

I scrambled for it, but just as my fingers brushed the broken remnants, her heel slammed down on my hand.

She ground her heel into them. I tried to pull my hand back, but she pressed harder.

"That's enough."

Spencer stood in the doorway, wearing a bathrobe, his damp hair dripping water.

"Don't get so worked up right after coming back. It's not worth it," he said softly.

He crouched beside her, gently massaging her ankle as if she'd been the one hurt.

In the process, her weight shifted just enough for me to free my hand.

Ignoring the throbbing pain, I grabbed the broken pieces of the hair tie and tucked them into my pocket. They were useless now, beyond repair.

Then I looked up, meeting Spencer's gaze head-on.

For the first time, I didn't bother to hide the raw intensity in my stare.

The air between us grew heavier, a tension thick with everything unsaid.

Spencer's expression flickered—confusion, hesitation, maybe even something he couldn't name.

But it vanished the moment Fiona's soft voice broke the silence, pulling his attention back to her.

He turned, murmuring reassurances as he ushered her inside.

And then it was just the two of us.

He lit a cigarette, the motion as smooth and practiced as ever. The sharp scent made my throat itch.

He handed me a check.

"Maya, I owe you. This is compensation. Fiona's back now, and I need to treat her well."

A lump rose in my throat. For the first time, Spencer was apologizing.

I stared at him, silent. My hands stayed, not moving to take the check.

"Spencer, what do the years I spent with you mean to you?"

The answer was obvious. Still, I asked. Maybe I just needed to hear it.

For once, he looked... uncertain. That flicker of confusion returned to his eyes, like he wanted to say something but couldn't find the words.

I waited, giving him time. For once, I wasn't in a rush to fill the silence.

But before he could speak, Fiona's voice rang out from inside the house, calling for him again.

He hesitated—only for a second—before tossing the check onto the ground.

Without another word, he walked away.

The way he stubbed out his cigarette was rushed and clumsy, almost childlike, like the first time he'd secretly smoked behind his parents' backs.

Even before stepping back into the house, Spencer checked himself over, patting his clothes and exhaling carefully to make sure the smell of smoke was completely gone.

Fiona hated that smell.

I didn't bother picking up the check.

Instead, I gathered my things, clutching the broken hair tie in my pocket, and left.

'Spencer, I hope you stay firm in your choice. Don't regret it. Never, ever regret it.'