No Blossoms Here
Language: en
The fifth spring since our divorce. Julian and I met again in a tattoo studio. He was there to touch up his lover's name over his heart. I was there to cover the old scars on my wrist. Years had passed. We stared at each other, speechless. After a long silence, Julian opened his mouth to speak, but a small hand tugged at the hem of his shirt. "Daddy," a little boy said, looking at me with curiosity. "Who is she?"