Valentine’s Day came around, and although I was never big on holidays, having grown up as a Jehovah’s Witness, I wanted to do something nice for my girls. My upbringing hadn’t afforded me the experience of truly celebrating special days like this, but I wanted my wife and daughter to feel loved and appreciated. While my daughter Alenna was at school, and my wife Brenna at work, I decided to take a stroll through the chilly streets of Brooklyn, looking for a florist with roses. I knew that on this particular day, flowers tended to be overpriced, but that didn’t matter. With money in my pocket, I’m a different man, careless to spend on things that I value. The crisp winter air brushed against my face as I walked, contrasting with the warm feeling that was growing in my heart. I stumbled upon a small shop with a crowd of people in front, and I knew I had arrived. The storefront was quaint and charming, with a modest display of flowers framed by vintage windowpanes. Everyone was scrambling to make their purchases, ensuring a good holiday would ensue. The aroma of fresh blooms wafted from the store, blending with the scent of the crisp city air. I entered the store, a bell above the door chiming as I crossed the threshold. I was immediately greeted by the sight of an array of vibrant flowers, each bouquet more stunning than the next. I looked for the tallest, most beautiful roses that I could find, and asked for two of them. Their deep red petals seemed to embody the love and passion I felt for the two most important people in my life. I made my way back home, placing one of the roses on our bed, where Brenna and I rest every night. The single red rose looked so striking against the soft sheets, a symbol of our love awaiting her return. The other rose, I kept with me and began my walk toward my daughter’s school. I felt nervous for some reason, not knowing my daughter’s reaction to this gift she was about to receive. But as I made my way to the schoolyard, and the doors swung open, her face lit up at the sight of what I presented her: her very own red rose, and a gift from her father on this Valentine’s Day. Her eyes sparkled with delight, reflecting the love and admiration I hoped to convey. We made our way home, and as I carried her through the streets, she held onto the rose as tightly as she held onto me, and I couldn’t help but smile. The busy Brooklyn streets, bustling with people rushing to make their own Valentine’s Day memories, seemed to fade into the background.
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