Tom seemed to catch on. "Amber, give that flower to River, and we'll pretend this never happened."
His words felt like charity, as if he was offering me a way out.
But I didn't know how to appreciate it.
I tightly held onto the flower and glared at her. "Don't even think about it."
The Hawaiian silversword plant was my daughter's favorite flower.
She said it could live up to ninety years, only blooming once after sixty years, and she admired the flower's strong vitality.
Sadly, she could only look at pictures of it online. She said the knitted sunflowers others made were beautiful, and how she wished someone could knit a bunch of silverswords for her.
So, I spent days and nights learning how to knit by hand.
I failed countless times, and my fingers were covered with blisters before I finally made it.
My daughter loved hugging it when she slept.
She said she wanted to be as strong as it and to bloom brilliantly in her life.
My daughter was only six years old; she was so adorable and sensible.
But fate played a cruel joke on us.