I said, “I’m his wife.” The claim sounded almost absurd to my own ears. Once, being his wife would have felt like sufficient authority to ask any question about him. I explained, “I’m just trying to understand if this bouquet was meant for me.” The answer was, “I’m afraid there appears to have been an address error.” I asked, “Whose error?” and she apologized again: “I really apologize. We must have attached the wrong delivery information.” When I pressed, “But Daniel Mercer placed the order?” she would only repeat, “I’m
My husband sent another woman a huge bouquet of white roses and pink peonies with a card signed “Love, Daniel,” and by one careless mistake, those flowers arrived at our house instead.
