The morning light filtered through the blinds, casting soft patterns on Anna’s ceiling. She lay in bed, her thoughts drifting like the snowflakes outside. The roses had become a part of her mornings now, their vibrant presence lingering in her mind as soon as she woke. They weren’t just flowers anymore—they were threads of connection, a lifeline pulling her from the dark waters she had been sinking into.
As she got up, her hand instinctively rested on her womb. She hadn’t told anyone about the baby yet—not her mother, not her brothers, not even Beth. The secret felt like a heavy stone she carried, a burden and a blessing she didn’t know how to share. The life inside her was so small, so quiet, yet it had begun to reshape the edges of her world. She couldn’t ignore it any longer, even if she didn’t know what to do about it.
When she opened the front door, she wasn’t surprised to see the eighth rose waiting for her. It had become a ritual now, this small moment of discovery that felt like an anchor in the chaos of her days. She picked it up, her fingers eager as she untied the note.
"You are seen.”
The words stopped her in her tracks. She stood there on the cold landing, the snow swirling gently around her. The note felt alive in her hand, as if its words carried a quiet heartbeat of their own. Seen. It was a word that felt both foreign and achingly familiar. She hadn’t felt truly seen in so long—not by Tayler, not by her family, not even by herself. And yet, here it was, written in elegant script, a quiet declaration that cut through her doubt.
She brought the rose inside, adding it to the vase on the counter. Eight now. The notes were lined up beside them, their messages a quiet symphony of hope that had begun to soften the hardness around her heart. She sat at the table, staring at the newest note, her mind swirling with questions.
Whoever was leaving these roses saw her in a way she didn’t understand. They saw past her brokenness, her failures, her doubts. They saw something she couldn’t see in herself. The thought was both comforting and unsettling.
At work, Anna’s thoughts kept returning to the note. "You are seen." She thought about her mother’s texts, her steadfast persistence that had always been there, even when Anna had pushed it away. She thought about Beth, who had shown up unannounced with coffee and pastries, her warmth cutting through the walls Anna had built around herself.
Maybe being seen wasn’t just about someone noticing you. Maybe it was about someone choosing to see you, even when you felt invisible. Maybe it was about love.
The thought lingered as she left the office and walked home through the snow. The streets were quiet, the holiday lights twinkling in windows and doorways. Anna felt the gentle tug of the baby in her thoughts again, the quiet presence that had begun to feel like a question she didn’t know how to answer.
When she got home, she sat at the kitchen table, staring at the roses. Their presence was almost overwhelming now, their beauty a sharp contrast to the emptiness she had felt for so long. She picked up the note from the eighth rose, running her fingers over the words.
"You are seen.”
Could it be true? Could someone see her, even with all her flaws, her failures, her doubts? Could she let herself be seen?
Her phone buzzed, pulling her from her thoughts. It was a text from Beth.
"Hey, just thinking about you. Let me know if you want to grab coffee this week."
Anna stared at the message, her heart tightening. She thought about calling her mother, about telling her the truth. But the thought felt too big, too heavy. Instead, she replied to Beth.
"Coffee sounds good. Maybe tomorrow?"
Beth’s reply came quickly. "Perfect. Let’s meet at 7. My treat. ❤️"
Anna set the phone down, her heart lighter than it had been in weeks. She wasn’t ready to share everything yet, but the idea of being seen—truly seen—didn’t feel as terrifying as it had before.
As darkness enveloped her, as she lay still, Anna let the words escape her lips, delicate and unsteady, reaching into the darkness as if daring it to answer.
"You are seen."
They felt fragile, tentative, but they didn’t feel impossible. And for now, that was enough.
