FEBRUARY24_UNIKUM_WEB

SHORT-STORY
Thorns And Petals
Photo: Freepik // wirestock
Aurora Trondsen Flatvoll
Writer
Robert sat across from his wife, Hannah, Reminiscing
their first meeting. He spoke softly, and his eyes reflected
years of laughter and love. “You were so beautiful that
day,” he said gently. “Remember? We met at that little park
downtown,” Robert continued as he wandered around
the room, changing out the old roses that had started to
lose their petals. “Your laughter was contagious, and I
knew then that you were the one.”
The room around them held memories, from framed
pictures on the walls to the cozy chair in the corner,
where Hannah used to curl up with a book. Robert´s
gaze shifted to the present, to the figure on the couch. A
woman with brown hair and a delicate smile, oblivious
to the thoughts racing through her husband´s mind.
room, strategically placed to mask the subtle odor that
had permeated the house. It was a scent that lingered,
refusing to be erased.
Robert plucked three roses from one of the vases by the
fireplace and settled down beside Hannah. He gently
took the withered flowers from Hannah‘s cold grasp.
The new bright red roses he placed in her little hands
contrasted against her pale skin. Robert´s eyes rested
on Hannah‘s lifeless gaze; he stroked her cold cheek and
said, “We promised forever.”
As Robert spoke, he unfolded the pages of their
relationship- the concerts they went to, the spontaneous
road trips, the stolen kisses in hidden corners of the
world. His eyes wandered again to the woman on the
couch, his girl, as he often called her. Even after twelve
years, she was still as beautiful as the day they met. He
admired her from a distance, lost in his thoughts.
“We had our disagreements, didn´t we?” Robert
Acknowledged, his tone shifting slightly. “But that´s
normal in any relationship. The passion and fire keep
things on the edge and alive.”
He recounted a recent fight, and their living room still
had scars from both presents and the current storm –
another hole in the wall, broken pictures and ornaments
on the floor, and the coffee table’s broken leg.
Robert knew his temper, which surged when he felt
threatened or was about to lose control. He wasn´t proud
of it, but he believed it stemmed from the intensity of his
love for Hannah. “I´m Sorry, Hannah,” he whispered,
picking up a broken picture from the floor. Almost as if
he were seeking forgiveness from the frozen image of his
wife smiling back at him. “I never meant to hurt you. It´s
just that… I love you so much.” He paused, looking over
at his girl. “Sometimes it overwhelms me.”
Robert had been carefully crafting a façade to cover the
cracks in their relationship; roses adorned the living
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