The alarm blared, startling Anna awake. She fumbled for the snooze button, silencing it before burying her face in the pillow. Sleep had been hard to come by, her thoughts a jumble of guilt, confusion, and the strange comfort of the roses. She wanted to stay wrapped in the cocoon of her bed, away from the world and its demands, but responsibilities loomed large.

Work awaited. Bills awaited. And somewhere in her heart, a child awaited.

Dragging herself upright, Anna stared at her reflection in the mirror across the room. Her hair was a mess, her eyes puffy and rimmed with shadows. The image mirrored what she felt: exhausted and overwhelmed. Yet, in the quiet corners of her mind, two simple messages gently rose, steadying her, refusing to let her sink entirely.

You are not alone. You are known.

She wondered again about the roses. Someone knew her well enough to leave them, to choose words that pierced her soul like light cutting through thick fog. But who? She dismissed the question as she pulled herself out of bed. Thinking about it only made her feel lonelier—like walking into an empty room and expecting a warm embrace.

In the kitchen, the roses still stood side by side, vibrant and unyielding, as if untouched by the passing of time. They seemed out of place against the faded cabinets and cluttered counter, a jarring contrast to the rest of her life. She fingered the edges of one bloom absentmindedly, letting its softness ground her.

A knock at the door startled her.

She froze, her heart racing as her eyes darted toward the clock. It was early—too early for visitors. Tayler wouldn’t knock. Tayler wouldn’t come back. She knew that. Still, her pulse quickened as she approached the door and opened it cautiously.

No one.

The landing was empty, but the mailbox wasn’t. Another rose stood waiting, its majestic petals stark against the dull black metal. The sight of it made her breath catch. For a moment, she hesitated, glancing up and down the street. No one was there. No footsteps disturbed the snow beyond her own from the day before.

She stepped outside, shivering as the icy air bit at her skin. With careful fingers, she lifted the rose from the mailbox and untied the note attached. The twine slipped free easily, and the small slip of paper unfolded in her hand.

"You are loved.”

Her vision blurred as tears welled up. She turned the words over in her mind, unsure whether to believe them. Loved. It felt foreign, as though the very notion had no place in her life. Yet, here it was—delivered in three simple words on a note that seemed to beckon her, urging her to let them in.

Anna stepped back inside, closing the door softly as though afraid to disturb the moment. She carried the rose to the counter, placing it beside the others. Three now. Three roses, three messages, each one more impossible to believe than the last.

The day dragged at the office. The buzz of fluorescent lights and the clatter of keyboards seemed louder than usual, grating against her frayed nerves. Her coworkers moved about in quiet efficiency, immersed in their own routines. Anna sat at her desk, staring blankly at the spreadsheet on her screen. The numbers blurred, her mind too crowded with other thoughts.

A notification popped up on her phone. A text from her mother.

"Thinking of you today, sweetheart. Let me know if you need anything."

Anna stared at the words, her throat tightening. Catherine’s texts had always felt like background noise—reliable, predictable, easy to ignore. But today, they felt heavier, like an anchor dropped into turbulent waters. She wanted to respond, but the effort felt monumental. Instead, she set the phone down and stared out the window.

The snow was falling again, soft and steady. It reminded her of the roses. She wondered if her mother’s prayers felt the same—quiet, constant, gently pressing against her despair. Maybe Catherine’s prayers weren’t so different from the roses. Maybe they, too, carried messages she couldn’t yet believe.

You are not alone. You are known. You are loved.

The thought stayed with her as she left work and walked home through the snow. The streets were quiet, the holiday lights casting soft glows on the blanketed sidewalks. She passed families carrying shopping bags, children tugging at gloved hands, couples laughing as they ducked into warm cafes. Their joy felt like a world away, unreachable.

Back at the apartment, Anna set her bag down and glanced at the roses. They seemed brighter in the dim light, their petals open and vivid. She traced the edge of the newest one, her fingers lingering as her mind wandered.

Loved.

Her thoughts drifted to the baby again. The word echoed in a way that felt heavier when she thought of the life growing inside her. She didn’t feel capable of being a mother—not with everything else pressing on her. She didn’t even know if she wanted to try.

The enormity of the decision loomed like a shadow over her, and she found herself sinking to the floor again, knees drawn to her chest. The fear crept in, insidious and persistent. How could she bring a child into a world where she felt so broken? How could she possibly be enough?

Tears came, slow and silent. Her heart pounding as she reached for her phone, hovering over her mother’s name. She thought about calling, imagining Catherine’s voice on the other end, warm and full of quiet understanding. But the thought of telling her the truth—of admitting everything—froze her in place. She couldn’t face it. Not yet.

Instead, she picked up the note from the third rose, holding it tightly in her hand as though it could steady her. The words pulsed in her mind like a heartbeat, steady and insistent.

You are loved.

Anna didn’t believe it. Not yet. But as she sat there on the floor, clutching the note, she thought maybe—just maybe—she wanted to.