Carla worked as a shop assistant in a local flower shop. It might not have been the most ambitious career, but Carla found it fulfilling.

She loved flowers and enjoyed seeing the people who came to buy them. Each bouquet carried a story.

A little girl buying daisies for her schoolteacher, a man purchasing roses to apologize to his wife after an argument.

Sometimes, it was obvious what the story was as soon as Carla saw the customer; other times, she had to ask a few questions to find out, and sometimes she made up the story herself, hoping it was true.

The shop was a cozy, vibrant place with the sweet scent of flowers filling the air.

Shelves were lined with colorful blooms, and the walls were adorned with botanical prints.

The bell above the door jingled, and in walked an old man named Chester. He was a regular customer and one of Carla’s biggest mysteries.

“Can I have some peonies, please?” Chester asked in his gentle voice.

“As always? Sure, do you want them wrapped?” Carla replied, her curiosity piqued once again.

“No, thank you. Have a nice day,” Chester said with a kind smile.

Chester was quiet and reserved, a kind old man who always smiled warmly.

Every Friday, no matter the weather, he would come in and buy peonies, thank Carla, and leave.

Carla had tried many times to find out why. Maybe he took peonies to his wife every Friday, or perhaps he was spoiling his granddaughter.

No matter how much she pried, Chester would only smile and say nothing more.

“Do you have any special plans for these flowers, Mr. Chester?” Carla asked one day, hoping to get a clue.

Chester just chuckled softly and shook his head. “Just a little tradition,” he said cryptically.

But today, Carla decided she had to know the truth.

As Chester left, she closed the shop, put up an “On Break” sign, and carefully followed him to see where he went.

She made sure to keep a safe distance, hiding behind lampposts and bus stops, her heart pounding with excitement and a bit of guilt.

Chester walked slowly, his back slightly hunched with age, but he held the peonies carefully, almost reverently.

Carla felt a pang of sympathy for him. What story lay behind his weekly purchase? She was determined to find out.

Carla followed Chester cautiously, trying not to be seen. He walked slowly, his back slightly hunched with age, but he held the peonies carefully.

Carla hid behind clusters of people, darting behind building corners, her heart pounding with anticipation and a touch of guilt.

She kept a safe distance, watching as Chester navigated through the bustling streets. After a few blocks, he turned and entered the local cemetery.

Carla turned pale; she understood everything immediately. This wasn’t going to be a sweet story about a loving grandfather or a kind husband surprising his wife.

This was a sad story about an old man mourning someone from his past. Whether it was a deceased wife or another relative no longer mattered.

Carla felt a lump in her throat. She no longer wanted to invade his private life and felt guilty for following him.

She stood at the entrance of the cemetery, hesitating. Her own mother was buried there, and she hadn’t visited in a long time.

It was too sad and painful for her to go there. She found it easier to avoid it altogether.

With a heavy heart, Carla turned back and returned to her shop. She took down the “On Break” sign and sat back at the register, her mind swirling with thoughts.

Her mood was ruined. She felt so sorry for Chester, understanding now the depth of his weekly ritual.

“I shouldn’t have followed him,” she muttered to herself, feeling a wave of regret. “But now I know.”

Determined to make it up to him, Carla decided she would prepare a large bouquet of peonies at her own expense for the next Friday.

It was a small gesture, but she hoped it would convey her sympathy and respect for his quiet dedication.

She spent the rest of the day planning the perfect arrangement, her heart a little lighter knowing she could offer some comfort, even in a small way.

The week passed quickly, and Carla had prepared a beautiful bouquet of peonies, hidden behind the counter.

She waited eagerly for Chester, but he didn’t come. Usually, he was there by this time, but today was different.

Carla kept glancing at the door, her anticipation growing with each passing minute.

“Maybe he’s just running late,” she muttered to herself, trying to stay positive.

As the day went on, Carla smiled and helped her clients, but she couldn’t stop thinking that something had happened to Chester.

Each time the bell above the door jingled, her heart skipped a beat, but each new customer was not Chester.

By the time it grew dark outside, it was clear that Chester wasn’t coming. It was time to close the shop, but Carla decided to stay open a bit longer, hoping Chester would still show up.

After another half hour with no sign of Chester, Carla, feeling upset and worried, took the bouquet and left the shop.

She decided to go to the cemetery herself and place the bouquet on the grave. She knew she could find the right grave by recognizing the flowers from last week.

Holding the bouquet tightly, Carla made her way to the cemetery, her mind filled with concern for the kind old man who had become such a familiar part of her Fridays.

At the cemetery, Carla began looking around for her flowers. The air was still, and the evening light cast long shadows over the gravestones.

Finally, she saw the wilted peonies by one of the headstones. But Carla never expected to see them lying there. It was her mother’s grave.

Overwhelmed with emotion, Carla knelt by the grave and gently replaced the wilted flowers with the fresh bouquet.

Tears streamed down her face as she felt sadness, fear, and guilt for not visiting her mother for so long.

“I’m so sorry, Mom,” Carla whispered, her voice trembling. “I promise I’ll come back more often.”

She felt a deep ache in her chest. The biggest question was who Chester was and why he brought flowers to her mother’s grave for so many years.

Carla had never known her father because her mother had raised her alone. But then, who was Chester?

As she stood by the grave, a woman approached with flowers, her face kind and gentle.

“Do you know Chester?” the woman asked, smiling softly.

“Yes!” Carla responded without hesitation.

“I’m a nurse. He asked me to bring flowers to the grave, but I see you’ve already done it,” the nurse said, glancing at the fresh peonies Carla had just placed.

“Where is he now?” Carla asked urgently, her heart pounding with worry.

“You don’t know? Oh my… I don’t know how to tell you this. How are you related to him?” the nurse inquired, her expression turning serious.

“I’m… I’m a good friend,” Carla said, trying to keep her voice steady.

“He’s in the hospital. He had a heart attack this morning,” the nurse explained gently.

“Oh no…” Carla gasped, her hand flying to her mouth.

“The doctors managed to stabilize him, but his condition is still critical,” the nurse continued, her tone reassuring yet concerned.

“Where’s the hospital?” Carla asked, her mind racing.

“I’ll drive you there; I’m heading back now,” the nurse offered.

Carla and the nurse got into the car and drove to the hospital. The journey felt like an eternity, Carla’s mind swirling with questions and worries.

As they arrived, Carla took a deep breath, steeling herself for whatever lay ahead. She needed to see Chester and get the answers she so desperately sought.

The nurse led Carla through the hospital corridors to Chester’s room. The sterile smell of antiseptic filled the air, and the beeping of medical equipment echoed softly down the hall.

As they entered the room, Carla saw Chester lying in the hospital bed, connected to various machines.

He looked frail and tired, a shadow of the cheerful man who visited her shop every week.

Carla approached him slowly, her heart heavy with concern. She gently took his hand, feeling the cold, papery skin against her own.

Chester was asleep, his breathing shallow and steady. As she stood there, his eyes fluttered open, and he looked up at her with a weak smile.

“Sorry, Chester. I didn’t mean to wake you,” Carla said softly, squeezing his hand gently.

“It’s okay… You’re the woman from the flower shop, right?” Chester asked weakly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes, it’s me, Carla,” she replied, her eyes filling with tears.

“Carla…” he repeated quietly, as if memorizing her name, his gaze soft and kind.

“Chester, how did you know my mother, Lauren?” Carla asked, her voice trembling with a mix of curiosity and fear.

“Lauren?” Chester’s eyes widened slightly, a flicker of recognition crossing his face.

“I saw you bringing flowers to her grave,” Carla explained, her heart pounding in her chest.

“Of course, my dear Lauren… the love of my life. I’m so sorry,” Chester said, his voice breaking with emotion.

“Sorry? For what?” Carla asked, confusion mixing with her sorrow.

“For having to leave her… for having to go away,” Chester replied, his eyes filling with tears.

“Were you together?” Carla asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes, we were. We loved each other, but I had to leave for the military. I thought it would be easier for her without me, so I left without a word.

I didn’t want her to wait and suffer,” Chester explained, his voice heavy with regret.

“How long ago was this?” Carla asked, her mind racing.

“Thirty-seven years… I think it was thirty-seven years,” Chester replied, his eyes distant as he recalled the past.

“That’s exactly how old I am. Chester, I was born thirty-seven years ago,” Carla said, her voice trembling.

“That can’t be… Was she pregnant?” Chester asked, his eyes widening in shock.

“Yes… She remembered you, though she never told me. But I saw her looking at an old photo of a man in uniform that she kept in a box.

Now I understand it was you, Chester. I’m your daughter,” Carla said, tears streaming down her face.

“My dear… I’m so glad we met. Please forgive me. Forgive me for everything,” Chester pleaded, his voice choked with emotion.

“It’s never too late to come back to your loved ones. Fate brought us together for a reason. Get well, Chester,” Carla said, leaning down to hug him gently.

“Dad…” Carla whispered, her heart full.

“Get well, Dad,” she repeated, feeling a sense of peace and closure wash over her.

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