She’d chosen to scream at me in public, and now she was sending lilies.

The sheer size of the arrangement made me furious, but a flicker of confusion was mixed in with the anger.

She was acting as if we’d just had a disagreement about a holiday dinner menu.

“Who sent them?” Emma asked.

She asked in a very small voice, keeping her head down.

She picked up a green crayon and started shading a turtle on the open page.

“They’re from your grandma,” I said.