It started with a single bouquet on my doorstep, a sweet surprise I didn’t expect. But when those flowers kept coming—day after day, with notes that grew more intimate—my world turned upside down. My husband thought I was hiding something, and I was racing to uncover the truth before our love fell apart.
I’m Lauren, and my three years with Jeremy have been a beautiful, messy adventure. We fell in love over shared laughs at a friend’s party, bonding over our obsession with crime shows. Our life isn’t glamorous—think late-night tacos and debates over who’s hogging the blanket—but it’s ours. We’re saving for a house, planning for kids, and navigating the usual ups and downs. But nothing prepared me for the chaos those flowers brought.
The first delivery was charming: red roses with a note, “Lauren, you’re always in my thoughts.” I figured it was a mix-up and showed Jeremy, expecting a laugh. He joked about me having a “fan,” but when more flowers arrived—tulips, orchids, each with a creepier note—the mood shifted. “Lauren, I dream of your touch.” “Lauren, he doesn’t deserve you.” Jeremy’s jokes stopped, replaced by questions. “Who’s sending these?” he’d ask, his eyes searching mine for answers I didn’t have.
Soon, he was distant, sleeping on the couch, even glancing at my phone when he thought I wasn’t looking. As a nurse, I’m used to stress, but this was different. Every bouquet felt like a taunt, and I could feel Jeremy slipping away. His mother, Patricia, didn’t help. She’s always been critical, tossing out comments like, “Lauren, your cooking is… unique.” Since her husband died, she’s leaned hard on Jeremy, her only kid, even pushing us to move in with her. I kept my cool, but her meddling was a constant thorn.
One evening, after a note arrived saying, “Lauren, I’m counting the hours until you’re mine,” Jeremy lost it. “Who is he?” he demanded. My heart broke. He thought I was cheating. I swore I wasn’t, but the doubt in his eyes cut deep. I couldn’t just sit there—I had to find out who was doing this.
I started collecting the notes, noticing the handwriting looked familiar. Comparing them to old cards, I realized it was Patricia’s. My stomach dropped. To confirm, I called the florist, acting like I was checking the order. They confirmed: Patricia was paying for the flowers, sent from her address. She was trying to sabotage us, hoping Jeremy would leave me and return to her.
I was livid but saw a chance for justice. I ordered a flood of roses to Patricia’s house, each with a cheeky note from her “admirer.” “Patricia, your charm is irresistible.” “Patricia, let’s keep this quiet.” She freaked out, bursting into our place with a bouquet, ranting about a “stalker.” That’s when I laid out the evidence—her cards next to mine—for Jeremy to see. He was stunned. “Mom, why?” he asked. She mumbled excuses, but he saw the truth and asked her to leave.
We’ve cut contact with Patricia, and the flowers stopped. Jeremy and I are healing, and now, when he brings me flowers, they come with a note that says, “To Lauren, my everything. Thank you for fighting for us.” This mess showed me how strong I am. I could’ve let those flowers break us, but I chose to uncover the truth and protect what we have. And I’d do it again.
