Then he took Emily’s hand and led her into the master bedroom — the same room he had shared with our mom for over thirty years. We had offered to repaint it, maybe buy new furniture before the wedding, but he refused every suggestion.
“Keeping it the way it is gives me peace,” he would always say.
Around midnight, I woke to a strange noise. At first, I thought it was the wind or maybe something knocking outside. Then I heard it clearly — a scream. Sharp. Panicked.
My sister and I bolted out of bed and rushed down the hallway to Dad’s room. From behind the door, we heard Emily’s shaky voice:
“No! Please… don’t do that!”
My heart pounded as I pushed the door open.
What I saw froze me in place.
Dad was standing there, holding an enormous bouquet of flowers. He had planned some grand romantic surprise. But in his excitement, he had tripped over the old rug — the same one that had been there for years — and sent himself and the flowers tumbling forward.
The bouquet had scattered everywhere. Emily had fallen backward onto the bed, startled into a scream before dissolving into nervous laughter.
Dad, red-faced and embarrassed, was laughing too as he scrambled to help her up.