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RUBY JUNE. The smell of antiseptic was something I had grown tired of over the past few days, but now I was ready to leave the hospital. While the nurse busied herself with the discharge papers, I stared out the window, my mind still reeling from everything that had happened. Charles and I had not spoken much since our last conversation, and I wasn’t sure what to expect when I saw him again. Just as I was finishing up, the door creaked open, and in walked Charles—holding a bouquet of flowers. I blinked, taken aback by the sight. Flowers. From *Charles*. He smiled, a little too brightly, as he walked over and handed them to me. “Thought you might like these,” he said, his voice softer than usual. I stared at the flowers for a moment, trying to process what was happening. “Flowers?