When Roses Rot

Mrs. Allen stretched out on the recliner adjacent to the double-hung window, intermittently sipping from a glass of strawberry-banana smoothie topped with ice. She absentmindedly stroked the lush leaves of a nearby snake plant, her fingers brushing over one that bore a spot-fresh and crisp amidst its senescent siblings.

Perhaps it wasn't getting enough nutrients, she thought, narrowing her eyes as she inspected it with the care of millennial.

A sudden knock stripped her focus from the plant.

She rose to answer the door.

"Mom!"

Hazel squealed, wrapping her in a warm hug. They lived together, yet a few hours away from her felt like ages of torture for Hazel-though, truth be told, her father remained her all-time favorite.

"Oh dear! You're quite late today."

Mrs Allen glanced at the oval German wall clock.

"I know, it's 7 o'clock," Hazel replied, collapsing into the sofa with a tired sigh. "But we had a lot of customers today. It was hectic."

She ran her fingers through her adorable blonde hair and settled back. Young and the only child, Hazel had been managing the family café for years. What began as a modest kiosk on No. 16 District Amelia Street in Roco Newland had flourished into the city's largest café within just four years.

Despite her accomplishments-a degree in Business Administration, plus diplomas in Office Administration and Real Estate by age twenty-four-Hazel viewed them as mere stepping stones. She had no desire to work for someone else. Her heart belonged to the café, and that's where she stayed. The fact that it belonged to her Dad, further made it feel like home to her.

"Let me take this, darling. I'll be right back," Mrs Allen said, disappearing down the hallway. Hazel has the next thing in mind.

Hazel made her way to the bathroom. She stared at herself in the mirror. A clear portrait of a pretty, green-eyed blonde stared back. Her skin-silky, radiant, and unmarred except for the mole on her jaw- which she barely cared about.. Turning away, she shifted shower curtains and sighed briefly with exhaustion.

"A beauty spot," her mom often called it. People often said that it represented the spot where she had been kissed by a lover in her past life. She wondered about it for a moment and dismissed the thought. It felt ridiculous and she considered a hickey shaped mark more adequate for the theory.

She didn't feel beautiful. Her full lashes, striking brows, symmetrical face, doe eyes-none of it mattered in moments like this and if it ever did matter, she felt like the flaws, the slightly broad nose and full lips which she wished were thinner. She wanted her eyes more squinted like a siren's. A face with a seductive and challenging demeanor not her natural innocent nature that made her look naive and easy to fool. She reflected. Now feeling a bit insecure, she cast her thoughts, away from that.

She turned on the shower. Warm water streamed down her skin, steaming enough to fog the mirror. Sometimes she wrote on the misted surface-a little secret joy, she enjoyed scribbling away her fears and feelings. Hazel exhaled deeply. It was a huge relief. Her damp hair clung to her neck and scalp and fresh water trickled down her skin, highlighting it's smoothness. For a moment, she was weightless, warm, hidden from the world.

Then pain struck, quick and deep.

"Agh!"

She gasped, pulling her foot back. A sharp sting pierced her big toe. She crouched, inspecting the new cut. A bladed tweezer-likely her mom's-had been left carelessly on the floor. Blood beaded along the skin where some hair had scraped off.

She sucked her teeth, muttering a curse under her breath. The thought of wearing shoes-or even socks-the next day made her cringe. Gritting through the pain, she reached for a towel and some tissue, rinsing the wound under warm water before gently dabbing and dressing it.

Minutes later, wrapped in her favorite fluffy coat and freshly powdered with the scent of am angelic garden rose, Hazel descended the helical staircase. Her toe throbbed with every step.

That's when she noticed her mom.

Mrs Allen was back in the recliner but in a different position. Her body slumped and a depressed look haunted her face. Her hands cradled her head, and her face was turned away. She hadn't even noticed Hazel enter.

Something felt wrong.

Hazel paused, her instincts bristling. Her mom was typically buoyant, vibrant, a magnetic sanguine. Rarely sad. And when she was sad-it meant something serious, something horrible.

She limped over quietly and sat down beside her, careful to adjust her aching toe, lest it hurt more. The silence was thick. She pulled the curtain shut, then looked back.

"Mom?"

Mrs Allen flinched slightly, then looked up. Her face was pale and streaked with tears. Hazel's breath caught in her throat. Her heart's pace slowly increasing.

The last time she'd seen her mother cry like this was when Grandma died. That was over a decade ago.

Hazel's pulse quickened.

"Mom? Is everything okay? Is it... is it about Dad?"

Mrs Allen tried to respond, but her voice cracked between gasps of breath and choked sobs.

"Your dad-he's... he's fine," she stammered. Tears welled again, sliding across her cheeks and into the corners of her lips.

Hazel leaned forward. "Then what is it? What did the doctors say? We're doing everything right-you're on your medication, eating well, sleeping well, doing regular checkups, your transfusions are consistent... plasma, blood... every month. We've kept to the routine."

Her voice trembled with rising panic. "Nothing could've gone wrong. Right?"

Mrs Allen didn't answer. She didn't have to. The look in her eyes said it so much but was also vague enough to hide the main bone of contention. She tried to wrap her attention around it. Could it be her mother's myelodysplastic health condition that disabled hre so much she lost her ability to live a normal and remained ever dependent for care and medication, could it be that someone had lost their life again or could she they be attacked any moment soon? Was the world about to come to am end? Mrs Allen solemn blank gaze gave no clue. Once full of live, she now looked so empty as Hazel stared into her clueless yet grieved face. Unable to phantom, the situation, she felt frustrated.

Hazel's stomach twisted. Her throat tightened. Something inside her felt like it had started to fall-slow, painful, unstoppable.