The Faded Bouquet
The vase sat on the kitchen counter for eleven years, and I never threw it away. It was the cheap kind—translucent glass with a faint green tint, the kind they sold in bulk at wedding favours shops. Seven hundred of them, each one holding a single spray of baby's breath, handed to strangers who would later forget I existed. But this one—the last one—was different. Because it held the last thing...
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