She realized how pivotal Mark was to her existence.

Never had she felt so clear—headed.

With age, she'd become more reserved, curbing her true desires.

Her doorbell chimed.

Cecilia, expecting her delivery, opened the door only to find Mark.

The sharp contrast of his white shirt against his black pants gave him an undeniably debonair look; yet his complexion hinted at fatigue.

He held a bouquet of vivid red roses in one hand and a chilled bottle of vintage wine in the other.

Catching a whiff of the wine she'd been drinking, Mark teased, “How about trying this one?"

A few beats passed before Cecilia gathered her wits. Taking the roses, she stepped aside, allowing Mark to enter.

Over the years, Mark hadn't been one for grand gestures, seldom surprising her with flowers.

In their earlier days, he'd doted on her like she was a fragile doll.

Later, he'd taken to the kitchen, preparing meals for her in their shared apartment.

However, flowers held their own magic.

Inhaling their fragrance, she playfully said, "Didn't the doctors want to keep you a bit Longer?"

He grinned.

"I sneaked out."

Setting down the wine, Mark's gaze rested on the remnants of her meal and wine.

His gaze was thoughtful, almost piercing.

Clearing a spot for the roses, Cecilia asked, "Hungry?"

Sampling her food, Mark noted its decent taste.