Everyone in the office knew what the flowers on Emily’s desk meant. They arrived every Monday: white lilies, precisely arranged, with no card. By lunchtime, someone would receive bad news. The first week, Martin from Accounts was dismissed. The next, Priya’s transfer request was denied. Then the company announced twelve redundancies. Soon, nobody wanted to sit near Emily. She insisted she didn’t know who sent the flowers. Her manager smiled too quickly whenever anyone asked. Human Resources called the rumours “unhelpful speculation,” which only made them spread faster. On the fourth Monday, the bouquet was enormous. Employees whispered in corridors and updated their résumés beneath their desks. At three o’clock, the managing director summoned Emily upstairs. She returned twenty minutes later carrying a cardboard box. No one looked at her. “I’m leaving,” she announced. The office fell silent. Then Emily laughed. “My sister owns a flower shop. She sends these because Monday was the day I finished chemotherapy.” A dozen faces turned crimson. “The director offered me a promotion,” she continued, “but I turned it down. I’m opening a café with her.” She placed the lilies in the kitchen before walking out. Months later, several former colleagues visited the café. Emily served coffee, pastries and bowls of pasta beneath bright shelves of flowers. When her sister shouted from the kitchen that the basil delivery had arrived, Emily tied on an apron. Of all the pasta sauces she could have been asked to make, pesto was the easiest.