Where flowers grow, sorrow sleeps

——

“Where are we headed now?” Mr. Mark asked, breaking the long, taut silence that had wrapped around us like cold fog.

His voice was careful, uncertain, trying not to stir something already trembling beneath the surface.

“To see Daisy,” I said quietly, not turning my eyes away from the passing scenery.

There was a beat of silence.

“What?” he asked, glancing at me confused. “W—what do you mean?”

I looked over briefly, meeting his confused eyes with a steady one of my own. “We’re going to see Daisy.”

His grip tightened around the steering wheel, knuckles blanching. “I heard you, Ma, I—I heard. But...