“Oh Ms. Quillian your package arrived,” Susan said from reception.

“Thank you,” Iris said, juggling her flat white grande and flat bread panini.

On the elevator ride back up to her office Iris examined the FedEx box. It was John’s handwriting. She shook the box. One of the accountants on the elevator looked amused.

“I think my fiancé sent me a surprise,” Iris explained.

With a bone folder, Iris sliced the box. She had a giddy, Christmas morning feeling. Maybe it was tickets to a show. Saddleback Gardens was have its orchid exhibit this weekend. Or maybe it was a silly gift, some folly caught John’s fancy and he shipped it to her office for a laugh. Iris glanced over at the iris coffee cup John had sent her last year.

Box finally opened and out slid John’s house keys and the garage door fob. That was it. Dumbfounded Iris froze. Was this a joke? A mistake? Iris shook the FedEx box as if and explanation would spill with a definitive clunk.

A slip of notepaper floated out of the box. Iris pounced on it. It was periwinkle and read l: From the Desk of J. Charles Elders—once the flowers bloomed, we will be doomed. Sorry dear, I’m leaving. We had a good run. I’ve moved out of your place. You can keep Muffin.

Soon Iris would call John’s phone only to discover she’s blocked. She would check his social meeting only to see he’d gone into incognito mode. Later that evening in a haze of red wine, Iris would cry call John’s mom looking for an explanation that made sense.

Right now Iris sat shocked behind her desk. She scanned her then eight months of their relationship. She thought they were happy. The world tilted. She clutched John’s keys in her fingers holding on.