Charles stood in front of the kaleidoscope of roses, daisies, tulips and other flowers he wished he knew the names of at that particular moment. The roses. Her favorite. Charles grabbed two dozen of the deepest crimson reds he could find. Seared into his brain over the last few days, two images bubbled up. It was their two year anniversary. She had forgotten. Her hand hit her forehead, the patented damn-I-forgot-and-messed-up expression. He hid his disappointment as best he could and presented her the gift he had hunted down for weeks. When he looked up, her hand covered her mouth and her eyes smiled—she hadn’t forgotten. Those warm smiling and mischievous eyes. But the eyes shifted. Resentments, grievances, petty squabbles narrowed them into snakelike slits. Why the hell does it always take a huge fight to see what's really important? To miss their little annoying quirks and familiar scent in bed. The images of her face flashed and formed a one-two punch that hit Charles's gut again and again. Sir, sir, he heard as if from far off in the distance. He had reached the end of the queue. He made apologies for his inattention, paid the cashier, and left the store. Outside, wind blasted against his brown leather jacket. Charles dug in his heels, cradled the flowers, and sprinted to the car. He had to win her back.
This one paragraph story is my entry for Fox Tales Week #23 based on the art above drawn by @vermillionfox.