Part 2Flowers for a Liar

The next morning, I stayed home to pack.

Looking around the small, dim rental, there was surprisingly little worth taking with me.

Birthday cards tossed from a bakery, pretty stones picked up from the street, rings fashioned from crumpled paper…

Louis had presented these as surprises.

But each time I opened a ‘blind box,’ he looked just as surprised.

Now, I realized these ‘gifts’ were probably just random items someone else had arranged for him, and he likely didn’t even know what was inside.

The only somewhat decent gift was a necklace he’d bought for eighty dollars from a street vendor after his first successful venture.

At the time, I thought he was wasting money and got quite upset with him.

But Louis had just laughed, an amused look on his face.

He said I was silly, wondering what would happen if he ever truly became wealthy and I still couldn't bring myself to spend money.

I thought he was being considerate then.

Now, it seemed he truly thought I was an idiot.

In our dense chat history, Louis had called me ‘silly’ a staggering 517 times.

When I ran through three streets to buy him his favorite late-night snack, he’d say, “How can Cathy be so silly?”

When he had a fever, and I draped my only raincoat over him, carrying him to the hospital on my back, he’d say, “She’s ridiculously silly.”

Even when I lay in his arms, dreaming of a brighter future with him, he would still type in the group chat:

“Cathy is hopelessly silly, so broke yet still fantasizing about a future with me…”

Even in cold text, I could imagine the disdain and mockery in his tone as he wrote that.

But it didn’t matter anymore. From now on, Louis Davies would have no place in Cathy Lord’s future.

I continued packing, but in the end, my large suitcase remained empty.

The trash can, however, was full.

I surveyed the home I’d lived in for two years once more.

The walls stained with watermarks, a chair with a broken leg, a bed made of bricks and planks…

When things were a little better, I’d wanted to decorate this place properly.

But Louis always refused.

He said we wouldn’t live here once we had money, so decorating was pointless.

I’d believed every one of his promises, then stayed in this dilapidated house, foolishly waiting for those promises to materialize.

Thinking of all this, I suddenly felt a profound sense of futility.

I closed my suitcase just as the agent called.

“Miss Lord, I can’t finalize the flower shop sublease myself. You’ll need to speak with the landlord personally.”