It had never been Richard in the first place. How Therese failed to see that, she didn't know.

Their parting had been awkward and unpleasant, and Therese still felt guilty. Both guilty and a little (read: extremely) distraught. She didn't think she'd see much of Richard from now on, and she thanked her every little lucky star that she'd refused Richard's offer to have her move in with his family back during the beginning of their relationship. And his other subsequent offers that were actually just thinly veiled attempts for them to spend more time together. She felt only the slightest bit of remorse, if only because Richard didn't deserve this. He didn't

The only problem now was Therese didn't have a clue who was causing her current ailment. That was a lie; she had multiple clues, but the longer she denied it, the longer she didn't have to come to terms with her newfound attraction to women she'd never realized before. A newfound attraction specifically for women that were, what, over a decade older than her?

And yet…

Love at first sight. It was a silly concept, one played time and time again. A magical idea that seemed perfect in all of the movies and books Therese has seen. She'd thought, she thought that it was a sort of impossibility. She could argue that her feelings had only increased since meeting Carol, but it didn't explain the red petals that she'd coughed up. Passing aesthetic attraction? That was real. But it wasn't strong enough to make Therese feel the way she did, both in her heart and in her lungs.

Speaking of. Therese looked to the stack of tissue boxes she'd accumulated over the past week and made a face. She hadn't seen a doctor. She wouldn't see a doctor. Therese would die holed up in the basement, and someone would have to discover her here and drag her out. Surrounded by the flowers that would become her tomb; a shameful yet freeing secret. Perhaps she'd write a letter too, detailing her every feeling.

But that wouldn't be fair to Carol.

It wouldn't be fair to anyone who knew her, the people who still cared. Richard might feel a passing sadness, or he might feel nothing at all. Or maybe he'd rejoice, but was he really so cruel? Rindy might wonder where she was, but people like Therese were replaceable. She hardly thought that she was someone who mattered a great deal to the child; she couldn't even really talk to Rindy without sounding patronizing.

Would Carol even care? That was a depressing line of thought she didn't really want to explore. Of course Carol would care. Therese smiled, felt the eerily-familiar rise in her throat. She'd see the doctor later next week, when she could no longer rise out of bed. Therese wanted to indulge in this new and exciting feeling for just a little longer.

Therese asked if there was any mail for her. She was expecting something from Dannie, who was currently off at university and was old-fashioned in the way that he didn't email her. "It's more personal that way," he said with a mischievous glint in his eyes, all while Therese rolled her own.

Richard had yelled something about how it was probably Phil that Therese had fallen for (and what a silly little thought that was!). She didn't have much of a heart to say that Phil wasn't her favourite between the McElroy brothers, that she actually prefered to spend her time with Dannie. Dannie probably enjoyed her company more than Phil ever had anyway.

"Thank you," Therese called behind her as she hurried back downstairs, Mrs. Robichek making a noise of acknowledgement in turn. There were two letters, one from Dannie as she'd expected. The other was a letter from, oddly enough, Richard's mother. Then Therese began to feel rather guilty, because if Richard didn't deserve to be afflicted with the disease, Mrs. Semco certainly didn't deserve to go through whatever trauma she may knowing that her son had hanahaki.

Moreover, Therese didn't want to be listed as the cause.

She put the letter from Mrs. Semco down on her dresser and made a mental note to open it later. Therese reached for her letter opener, only to pause. That was a gift from Richard, when his family was visiting Europe and he'd picked her up a tiny blade in the form of a sword. Therese turned it over in her hand. When had it stopped becoming a simple letter opener, and instead became something of importance to Richard? She'll return it later, along with some of his other gifts. It was a rude thought, but if Therese didn't want them, what else was she to do?

Dannie's letter was short, filled mostly with personal anecdotes from his own university experience. These people aren't as fun to have a drink with as you and Phil, Terry. It's like they're not drinking booze at all, but NyQuil. Therese had smiled. Dannie's letters were perfect to read in an emotional pinch, a nice way to brighten her day, even if only temporarily.

The part at the bottom addressed what Therese had written to him in her last letter; about the hanahaki, and her rapidly deteriorating condition.

Sounds like a sticky situation. Hopefully the person you're pining for isn't me, hey? Just kidding. He wrote a small winking face with a tongue sticking out, and Therese snorted. He could wish. Really sucks that it had to happen that way though, Terry. You'll be a golden girl in two weeks! I'm sure you'll come to a rational conclusion. Write to me in a week, darling.

There was a postscript under Dannie's letter as well.

P.S - Managed to bug one of the staff members from the arts faculty, I'll give you his email if I can get it. He does photo editing, might be able to set you up with something if I bug him enough (read: piss him off enough). Alright, this time I'm closing off for real. Cheers!

Therese set the letter down, the pleasant remains of a smile ghosting her lips. Dannie really was too good to her, and she appreciated every word that came from his pen. Then she picked the letter back up, and read through it again. A rational conclusion. Of course. Obviously, the most rational conclusion to come to is getting the surgery done, and continuing on with her life.

Therese was not feeling particularly rational.

Her eyes trailed over to Mrs. Semco's letter, and she began to chew on her lower lip in thought. She really should open it. She'd already gotten to read the nice letter, so it's only fair, right? She grabbed the letter opener off of wherever she'd left it, and tore into the envelope.

Therese,

I would have called you, but I do not have your number, and Richard was reluctant to give it up to me. However, I still have your address from when I sent you the dress (speaking of, do you still wear it?), so hopefully this does not come as a surprise. He told me what happened, and I want you to know that you couldn't have helped it. You both must have thought that you were in love with each other; and quite frankly, that is a common story.

Richard will be getting his surgery next week. I wrote because I thought you might want to be updated on his condition, and because I am curious about yours. Although you and Richard are not partners anymore, you are still like a child to me, and I don't regret anything I've done for you, Therese. Do keep me updated from time to time. Richard would throw a fit, I think, if he knew that I was writing to you, but I write to you not as Richard's mother, but as myself.

I hope your recovery is well.

The letter wasn't venomous at all. And she didn't even blame Therese for not loving Richard in turn. She supposed that perhaps she might have expected that. Mrs. Semco has always been extremely lax when it came to Therese, and she suspected that this was only because Therese was a woman, and Mrs. Semco desired another woman to talk to. She had been to the Semco residence a few times during various holidays and she'd admit that the presence was chock full of testosterone-filled energy.

She'd write back to both Dannie and Mrs. Semco tonight, but she had to buy paper. No, actually, she didn't have to buy paper, actually. But it was a rather convenient excuse to call Carol up, see if she was free to hang out. Then she could walk over to the general store and buy what she needed there. Therese reached for her phone while coughing into her arm. More petals came up. Now, even when she wasn't immediately thinking about Carol, the petals would come up. It wasn't as bad as it was going to be. It would only get worse before it got better, Therese knew. She'd heard stories of people who were no longer coughing up flowers, but simply allowing their mouths to fill with petals. She was not bedridden yet. A selfish thought popped up in her mind as well, wondering if Carol would visit her if she did happen to fall bedridden.

Carol cared. She didn't care that much. Her smile turned wistful as she dialed Carol up.

"He- llo there, Therese!" Carol sounded jovial today. Therese felt herself smile softly. It was funny to her, how she could deny that these feelings of her weren't real for so long, only for them to wash over her in one large tidal wave. Spilling over her in giddy giggles and wider smiles. Therese's heart fluttered, and she held down the urge to cough, not only because her throat hurt but because she didn't want to ruin Carol's mood.

Another voice piped up next to Therese. Rindy was sitting in the seat behind Carol, and waved enthusiastically to Therese. "Hi, Miss Belivet!"

Therese greeted her back, and Carol explained that Rindy had been begging to go to a particular park for quite a while now, because there was a tiny lake that was now frozen. While Carol had explained that it was in no way solid enough to skate on, Rindy had asked to go anyways. It wasn't like she wanted to skate, of course, but some of her friends from middle school would be there as well, and this was very important and eventually, Carol caved. "It might not have been where you're wanting to go, but I hope that's alright?"

"Yeah," Therese said. She'd go anywhere with Carol right now. And Rindy would be away long enough for Therese to hear Carol speak. They didn't even have to converse. That would be enough. "Yeah."

Only a mere two seconds after Carol parked the car—Carol had counted—Rindy was already speeding off towards a group of children before either one of them could call after her. Carol smiled proudly at her daughter, and Therese watched the smile blossom with a sense of curiosity.

"Let's take a walk around," Carol suggested. It was getting real hard to force the flowers back down. Therese nodded.

"Do you know when you're getting the surgery?" Carol asked. Therese wondered if this was small talk or an attempt to wrench information out of her, because Carol was just so concerned.

"I think sometime in the next two weeks. Hard to say." Hard to know, when Therese still hasn't seen a professional.

"That's so long."

"I'll manage," Therese said with a shrug. Her condition didn't truly matter in the grand scheme of things, because she'd simply have the flowers removed and all would be well again. Except Therese knew that moments like these with Carol, like back at the cafe, and all of their little lunches in between would mean nothing to her after this. That alone made her juggle the concept of simply throwing her life away yet again.

Carol laughed in a sore attempt to lighten up the mood. "Well, if nothing else, we're at a park, so if you cough, we won't even have to throw the petals away." Never mind the fact that it was just about wintertime, and nobody really appreciated flowers that came from someone else.

"They wouldn't look pretty," Therese replied with a grimace. "Blood's coming up with them now, although I can't tell if it's late symptoms of hanahaki or if it's just the fact that I've probably coughed out half my throat." Cue the half-assed laugh.

She paused. "You know, you'd do well to get the cure as soon as possible. I was in your place once." Carol turned to meet Therese's eyes, and they bore into her with both concern and reprimand. "It doesn't do you much good to leave it to the last minute. It gets harder."

Therese knew that. Everyone knew that; it was obvious, painfully so in a way that was both literal and figurative. "I just don't see the point in removing it yet."

"I know. You'll just wonder why you had those feelings in the first place, after it's all over." Carol gave a shrug, like it was nothing (and it may as well have been nothing at all). She began to walk again. Therese shuffled to keep up. There was sense to Carol's words; it really wouldn't mean a thing to her after the surgery was over. The thought was disturbing. Love was not wonderful or blissful, it was a plague. Something to be rid of if it didn't immediately benefit her. Yet Therese was willing to die for it.

She was on the tipping point, and Therese would soon rather let herself fall than do anything about it. It was funny, in a deluded sense.

"Tell me about when you fell in love," Therese said quietly, stuffing her hands into her coat pockets awkwardly. It was starting to get colder out, and yet again Therese hadn't thought to bring out her gloves. She hadn't brought out her toque either, and she could feel the cold nipping at her ears.

Carol hummed a note. "You know Abby, don't you?" Therese had met her last week. Therese knew that she was an important person in Carol's life. Abby, who had known her for what seemed to be eons, and as much as Therese had wanted to like her, she couldn't. For multiple reasons, reasons that blurred together and pulled apart and formed into words Therese could only try to guess at. Abby was inclusive when she didn't need to be. She flaunted a certain highness over herself, carried herself in a way that was both needlessly kind and needlessly haughty. But it was more than that, more than what could be gleaned from a single meeting. She wouldn't dare tell Carol about those thoughts either. Therese nodded. Carol's tongue clicked. "It feels like forever ago, and it was so blissful, for a while. I think it could have been different between the both of us, if I had realized the true extent of my love for her sooner. She was the one who fell for me first, contracted that awful disease. Really, Abby was the more sensible one between the two of us. Got the flowers cut out, and only a day later I started coughing up flowers. The same damn flowers. And the worst part? She knew that she'd been in love with me at some point. So close and yet so far." Carol laughed at a distant memory, shaking her head.

"Ah, I see," Therese said, ducking her head down just slightly. Carol must have felt awful. Abby might have felt guilty for not postponing it for another day. She took her hands out of her pockets and played with her fingers for a few seconds before they were cold again. "It sounds like an uncommon story, but I'd be unsurprised to hear it happens a lot." What would it mean to Therese if the same thing happened? If she got the surgery, and then… Well, it was a silly, frivolous thought.

Wishful thinking, really.

Impossible.

… Yet.

Therese stopped walking, keeled over, and heaved.

They both stared. There was no longer just carnations in the bouquet of Therese's love. Cheery yellow daffodils laid on the cold ground, contrasting against the stark red of the carnation. Therese laughed at first, because it was so unbelievably funny to her, and then she began to cry. And she cried and coughed and felt pathetic as Carol kneeled next to her and rubbed circles on her back. The flowers were beautiful, and yet.

And yet.

Carol was right. It got harder.

Therese stopped coming out of the basement. She didn't bother to even drag herself up the stairs anymore to dump the buckets of flowers (finally she'd stopped coughing up flowers, and instead began to expel them as though she were puking) in the garbage bins anymore. Not until it got to the point where Therese could hardly navigate in her own room. Every breath she took was ragged, and her chest always felt compressed under the weight of a house. But she was not bedridden yet.

She had to stop tutoring Rindy at that point. Therese walked wherever she went, and she couldn't walk anywhere without carrying a trash bag for the flowers. Carol told her that Rindy understood. Therese didn't really think so, but she didn't protest against it. She didn't want to talk about Rindy.

She felt bad for thinking it as well, but her condition gave Carol a good excuse to come over and see her more often. It gave Therese a good excuse to ask for tinier things with her body. Reassurance. A conversational partner. Presence.

Carol.

Although at first, her check-ins were only for a few minutes, simply to see how Therese was doing, they ended up growing longer and longer as each day passed.

"You lied to me," Carol said one day, though she did not look at Therese. She perked up from where she rested, and dared to wonder why Carol's tone was harsh. Even before the words left her lips, Therese saw them written on her face as she turned. "You're not planning to get surgery."

"No," Therese admitted with a chuckle that came out a wheeze. The line between Carol's eyebrows darkened more as Therese's own smile widened. "I'm not."

"Why?" The smile disappeared almost immediately. There wasn't pleading in her voice, but a sort of coldness that stabbed at Therese. "Do you think you're being poetic? It is heroic to you, killing yourself for what? Why, Therese?"

And then Therese did wonder. She knew the short answer, the easy answer, the excuse. Because she was in love, and what would be the point? But what was the point of forcing those around her to suffer as well?

"It wouldn't be just me you hurt." That was true too. Therese thought of Dannie, who wouldn't be there and could only assume that she'd pass on because her letter would never arrive. And how long would he wait until he found out the truth? She thought of Mrs. Robichek, someone who wasn't wholly important to Therese, but someone who might have seen her as a good person. A sweet girl. Mrs. Semco, who cared enough to write to her, and maybe even Harge (although his loss would surely be impersonal).

Therese didn't know what to say. Not immediately. "I know." She was acting petulant, that was obvious, but there was something that she wanted to cling to. Even now she was being selfish, trying to draw little bits of sympathy from Carol. It was ugly. It was childish. She wanted to stop and yet she willed herself to continue. "I don't want to go."

"And I don't want you to die, but we don't all get what we want, now do we, Therese?"

Carol's stay didn't last much longer than that.

Even after Carol left, Therese could feel her heart still sunk into her stomach. She shouldn't have said anything. She should have seen the doctor. She shouldn't have made Carol mad. She'd ruined everything. Everything, even if there wasn't anything there to start? Carol's anger was in the right place, or at the very least, coming from a place that Therese could easily understand. Carol was at her wit's end, and even still, Therese made things harder.

What did she want, truly? The obvious answer is that she wanted Carol's affection. More than she'd ever wanted anything else in her lifetime. In the movies and books, people always tried to go after the affection of their beloved. And it always worked. Real life was not the same as that. There were so many factors that contributed, and it wasn't simply the taboo nature of Therese's love. That wasn't the issue at all.

Therese coughed weakly and closed her eyes. She heard her own breathing, uneven. She heard the sound of her own heart, steady but faint. If one got the surgery, it was impossible for that person to fall in love for the same person again. But Therese wanted to be in love. Wanted it desperately, and with nobody other than Carol.

Carol hadn't tried to ask who it was that Therese was in love with. She was sure that if Carol asked, she would say the truth instinctively, because that desire was so poignant. Therese tested the words on her lips, and as she said it, the desire only grew. "I love you, Carol."

Therese was utterly helpless against a love painful enough to die.