The snow had stopped by morning, leaving the world wrapped in a pristine silence. Anna stood by the window, her coffee untouched on the counter. The streets outside looked untouched, soft blankets of white hugging the trees and sidewalks. She pressed her forehead against the cold glass, the weight of the previous day still lingering in her chest.
You matter.
The note’s message had followed her through the night. Even now, it seemed to reverberate in her thoughts, a quiet rhythm she couldn’t ignore. She hadn’t expected to find another rose today, and yet, when she opened the door to check, her breath faltered.
It was there.
The fifth rose rested against the black mailbox, its petals just as vibrant, the brown paper carefully wrapped, as though shielding it from the cold. She stepped into the crisp air, a tightness settling in her throat as she reached for it. Her slippers crunched softly in the snow, each step grounding her in the moment.
When she unfolded the note, the words inside nearly undid her.
"You are stronger than you think.”
Her knees felt weak, and for a moment, she just stood there, the cold biting her cheeks as she stared at the message. Stronger? The word felt foreign, as though it belonged to someone else entirely. She didn’t feel strong—not now, not ever. Yet the words were there, written in an elegant hand that seemed to hold more belief in her than she could muster for herself.
The thought brought an ache to her chest. Who could see her this way? And why?
At work, the day dragged like an anchor across a lake bottom, slow and heavy. The office felt quieter than usual, the pre-holiday lull settling over everything. Anna stared at her screen, her fingers hovering over the keys as she tried to focus on the spreadsheet in front of her. But her thoughts kept circling back to the note, the message reverberating through her in a way she couldn’t seem to shake.
Stronger.
The word took her back to her childhood, to a version of herself that didn’t yet carry the burden of guilt and failure. She remembered running through the backyard in the summer, her younger brother Paul chasing her with a garden hose. David stood at the edge of the porch, laughing as she squealed, her arms flailing as the water soaked her dress. Their father had stood nearby, his face impassive, though she swore she’d caught him smiling.
Her mother’s voice echoed faintly in the memory, calling them in for dinner. Anna could still see the way Catherine’s apron tied neatly at the back, the way she hummed hymns as she set the table. It had been a warm kind of chaos, one she hadn’t appreciated at the time.
She hadn’t felt strong then, either. She had felt ordinary—just a little girl in the shadow of her brothers, with too many mistakes and too little to show for herself.
The memory settled like a stone in her chest. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d spoken to Paul or David, not really. Paul still sent texts now and then, always kind, always careful. David was different, distant. He lived in a world she couldn’t understand, and he had always seemed more interested in himself than in anything to do with her.
Her phone buzzed on the desk, startling her from her thoughts. She glanced at the screen. A text from Paul.
"Hey Anna, just checking in. I’ve been thinking about you. Hope you’re doing okay. Call me if you want to chat."
Her hand hovered over the phone, unsure how to respond. She could hear his voice in the words—steady, gentle, the way it had always been. Paul had a way of making things feel less heavy, like his presence alone could hold back the flood. But she couldn’t call him. Not now. Not with everything going on.
She typed a quick reply instead: "Thanks, Paul. I’m fine."
The lie tasted bitter as she hit send.
That evening, back in her apartment, Anna’s gaze was drawn to the fifth rose in the vase with the others. The flowers filled the small space with a quiet beauty that felt at odds with the chaos inside her. She traced the edges of the newest bloom, her mind replaying the words on the note.
"You are stronger than you think.”
What did it mean to be strong? Was it pretending everything was fine when it wasn’t? Was it enduring the silence of her apartment, the ache of abandonment, the overwhelming uncertainty of carrying a child into a life she hadn’t planned?
Her hand drifted to her womb. The life growing within didn’t care about her fears or doubts; didn’t ask if she was ready. The tiny heartbeat, steady and sure, was a quiet reminder of something bigger than herself.
She thought about her mother again—the way Catherine had always seemed to draw strength from her faith, no matter what life threw at her. For years, Anna had resented it—the endless flow of her mother’s prayers, a comforting and steady harbor that Anna couldn’t bring herself to reach for.
But now, sitting at her kitchen table, enveloped by the quiet presence of the roses, she felt something shift. Their silent messages seemed to permeate the air—a quiet embrace of love, growing, steady, undeniable. Maybe she’d been wrong. Maybe strength wasn’t about pretending everything was okay. Maybe it was about holding on—just barely—when everything felt like it was falling apart.
Her phone buzzed again. Another text from her mother.
"Just wanted to say I’m praying for you today, sweet girl. I love you so much."
Anna read the message twice, her chest tightening. The words felt like an echo of the notes, as though her mother and the mysterious roses were conspiring together to tell her something she couldn’t yet believe.
She didn’t reply. Not yet. But this time, she didn’t dismiss the message entirely.
Later that night, in the quiet darkness, Anna again lifted the words from an uncertain place, offering them to the depths within her, testing them as she had the others.
"You are stronger than you think."
The words didn’t feel true. Not yet. They remained shrouded in doubt’s dark cloak. But as she drifted off to sleep, they wrapped around her like a fragile thread of hope, pulling her just a little closer to believing.
