She should be over it by now. It had been an accident. But still. Whenever she shut her eyes all she could see was the lorry bearing down on her.
The sound of footsteps brought her back to today, and she had to smile as her small son toddled in clutching a mismatched bundle of bright poppies in one chubby fist.
“Look, Mum. Flowers,” he announced before dropping them in her lap and ambling off.
There was a piece of crumpled paper among the stems. She smoothed it reflexively
‘Poppies. To bring peace.’
That was the first time she cried…
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