Another fabulous LitLinks Achievement Award winner from LTC in 2026. Charlotte also represented LTC at a Writers Workshop to hone her craft with experts.
“Oh honey! I’m up!” Daniel calls.
To Daniel, nothing is better in the morning than to wake up to his wife preparing the kitchen for him. The doona weighs heavy, pulled to the side where his wife had already gotten up, she never remembered to fix it. But he’s okay with that, as it reminds him that his wife had been there with him. He knows she’d been there and would always be there.
After resisting the temptation to stay lying in the arms of the sheets, Daniel gets up. First he has to get dressed, a handsome button-up to bring light to his wife. Then a quick trip to the bathroom to freshen up. Now hungry, thunder in his stomach and a mind set on eggs, he heads to the kitchen. His wife has already left the room, the now clean dishes sparkle and the lights are left on for convenience. Although a layer of dust sleeps along his wife’s favorite baking tools, a stain on the clean scene.
It’s a simple dance really, grab the eggs from the fridge, a pan from the cupboard, the clinks and clanks a broken melody. Daniel always preferred his eggs scrambled while his wife had always preferred fried, so fried it was. She’d been vegetarian, while he isn’t, so he fries up mushrooms and cooks baked beans, rather than mouth melting bacon. While everything cooks away, Daniel makes his wife tea, a lovely camomile to help her come alive for the day. With the table set and plates filled with savory delights, a lively picture.
Daniel sits himself down, but not before pulling out a chair for his wife. She’d always been a slow eater so for now her food remains untouched. Daniel sits forward, an elbow on the table and his face against his hand, a wide smile plastered on his face.
“So sweetheart, any plans for the day?” he inquires.
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“Oh so quiet. I bet you’re going to read, aren't you? Been buried in those romantisy books of yours lately.” He teases, the mood becoming a taut wire.
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“Silent treatment huh? Guess I deserve it, though I'm not sure what for. Did I cheat on you in your dreams again?” He chuckles, forced like he had a grater shoved down his throat.
Daniel sighs. He hadn't even noticed his now barren plate. He dumps his plate in the sink, but leaves his wife’s for when she’s ready to eat. A quick trip to the loungeroom leaves Daniel seated in his chair, his wife’s right next to his. Both match as they came as a pair, but while his is rough and itchy from chip crumbs and beer spills, hers is as pristine as the crown jewels. The smell of unread books permeates the room, untold stories begging to be set free only for his wife not to oblige, and instead spend forever on just one. Daniel grabs one at random, one of those popular romance stories. With a quick flick through Daniel gets the gist, a man mad over a woman, and the woman too distant to let him close, seems cliche.
“Ding dong”
A flinch crashes through Daniel's body at the sound of the doorbell, and steals him from his daze. He didn't expect anyone over, but so many people had been checking in on him recently, so it wasn't surprising. Quick to the door, Daniel greets the guest. One of his wife’s friends, her mascara is a bit shoddy and her shirt crumpled. She clutches a beautiful bouquet of purple petunias, white daturas, and delicate chrysanthemums. She holds it out to him like one might hold a stray cat, her gaze glued to the ground. With a grateful smile Daniel takes them and cradles it against his chest.
“So for what reason do I owe the pleasure of your company?” Daniel cheeks, a grin breaking onto his face.
Her response is a tilted head and continued glassy downward gaze, followed by a simple “It’s for her, R-Rebeca, she would have . . . liked them.” Her speech is slow, she must be tired. So he smiles wider for her.
“She will love them, absolutely adore them even. I’m sure of it,” He encourages. Her gaze stays down. It starts to bother him. There is nothing that could be causing her so much grief.
“I think you should rest. My wife would hate for you to be too tired for your weekly coffee together, she’s so excited to try the new cafe downtown.” Daniel spoke with the same grating tone as before, the words forcing themselves up his throat.
She replies with a solemn nod and simply turns away, how rude. In return Daniel shuts the door and turns his back to it, the tension escaping his lips with a sigh. Daniel knew exactly where best to put this bouquet, so he journeys back to the kitchen, not noticing the sound of a card falling to the ground.
Going from the front door one moment to the kitchen the next. He grabs a glass, lipstick smudges mark the rim, and places in it the sink. He observes as water trickles from the tap and into the glass, each drop echoing through his mind. Once full he places the flowers in the water so they may survive. He knew his wife was going to love them. The petals are unmarked, clean and empty of love, no flower grown with passion would appear this way. Still it was beautiful. Daniel clasps his hands around the glass and heads for the garden. He’s careful not to spill any water on the ground. He can see his shoes sinking into the carpet, leaving proof of his presence.
It takes no time at all for Daniel to reach the back door. The click of the lock and wince of the door forced to open is all it takes to get to his wife’s paradise. The garden is small, but every available space is taken up by a blanket of flowers. Those that his wife always takes care of have begun wilting, she must be too busy for them now. Roses, daisies, poppies, and many more are intended to bring life to the backyard, a place to rest, but in their wilting state they simply look messy. But never mind that, as amongst the wilting flowers are vases and cups, each full of the flowers people have been gifting Daniel’s wife over the past few weeks. They hide the ugly wilting sadness and Daniel is sure his wife loves to see them. As Daniel had done before, he finds a patch of flowers abandoned by colour, and places the bouquet amongst them. He takes a few steps back and sits on the bench he and his wife had thrifted when they had first bought the house, having intended it to be a place they could both be at peace. The paint was now chipped but it let Daniel view the garden and the many colours he’d brought it to cover the invading brown. It wasn't as good as his wife’s flowers but it felt familiar and so it was right. Surely now his wife sat beside him, perhaps not touching him so as to not break him from his immersion, or simply her touch too light to feel. But how could she ever not be there, Daniel knew she must be. So he closed his eyes, the breeze and the birds unnoticeable as he instead silently enjoyed his wife’s presence. She would always be there.