I walk into my quiet house after a long day of work. I didn’t cry today but I’m not sure if I’m getting stronger or if I’m just numb. I walk into the kitchen and stop dead in my tracks. A bouquet of flowers was sitting on the counter. My eyes begin to well up because they are my favorites, but as I get closer an eerie feeling fills me instead. They are the exact bouquet that my husband got for me on our anniversary, same color, amount, and everything. I should know because I finally brought myself to throw away the shriveled flowers yesterday. I turn away, not wanting to look at them. I walk to the couch and try to think it over, maybe my mother left them to make me feel better, she knows I love carnations. Instead of feeling comforted I feel upset. It feels like a sick joke. Tears began spilling out of my eyes. I remember the day he gave them to me.

He had been having trouble with his PTSD at the time, but apparently he still bought me flowers. I had walked into the kitchen, ready to make our anniversary dinner. I had a note in my hand that I was going to give him. It was a heartfelt reminder of my love and support of him. I didn’t expect a gift from him but I was just happy he was here with me.

“Happy Anniversary, honey!” he shouted with enthusiasm as I walked into the kitchen. I stopped and exclaimed, my hands shooting to cover my mouth. There he was, dressed in suit and bow tie with a beautiful bouquet of pink carnations and a meal all set out for us. He looked more cleaned up than he has been in awhile. His hair was washed and combed and his face shaved. I could still see bags under his eyes and pain swimming in his dark brown eyes, but he looked genuinely happy.

“Oh Mark, you didn’t have to do any of this!” I said, a strong feeling of love warming my whole body.

“ I wanted to, you do so much for me all the time,” he whispered in my ear as his arms enveloped me, “ the least I could do is make you feel special.”

Tears stream down my face as this memory flashes in my mind. It was the last time we could enjoy each other. The next night I had come home to his corpse lying in our bedroom with a bullet in his head. I had kept the flowers but only because I couldn’t bear to touch them or throw them away. I had them for three weeks before I could bring myself to throw them out, they were well worn away by then. I look back to the flowers. Once again I'm filled with an eerie feeling. The flowers instill a haunting feeling in me. Something's not right. I walk over to the flowers slowly, each step filling me more and more with unwanted feelings. I reach to touch the soft petal of a flower, but I notice a note in the flowers. I grab the note and open it slowly. A paper falls out. The note reads, “ I’m so sorry, I made a mistake, I will make it up to you honey”. A chill runs through my whole body. With shaky hands I unfold the paper that fell out of the note. It was the note I gave to Mark. He had kept it with him and it was found in his dead hands. We buried it with him. I drop the note and notice some blood marks on it. I shriek but wont move. My body was frozen in horror. I slowly touch the flowers to make sure I’m not dreaming all of this. As my fingers touch the petal, the flower dissolves as if it had been dead for weeks. I jump back and nearly fall on the ground. I hear footsteps in the hallway. I grab a knife from the knife block on the counter. I can see a figure in the doorway, but there's not enough light to make out the face. The figure was above 6 ft and skinny, as if it hadn't eaten in weeks.

“Honey, it's me, I’m back” a distorted voice says, as if it's mimicking my husband, “ I made a deal and I came back to you, I'm sorry i'll stay this time,” It continues and takes a step forward. In the back of my head, for a split second, hope flutters, hope that it may be my husband and I only dreamed of losing him. But as it steps forward into the light I realize, that’s not my husband.