Drusilla lowered her gaze to the cup of coffee on the table and said, "Enoch, I... I think I want to resign."
Enoch raised an eyebrow at her, "All this over a little hiccup?"
"It might be minor to you," Drusilla replied. "I'll refer you to other therapists. I just don't want to go to the Taylor's anymore."
Enoch said nothing, merely lowering his head to start on his breakfast.
Drusilla watched him, taking his silence as agreement.
That's all she needed - his approval.
As she ate, a waiter approached with a large bouquet of flowers, standing beside her and saying, "Ms. Lawson, these are from a Mr. Taylor for you."
The roses were vibrant, as if freshly picked from a garden that very morning.
Seeing this, Drusilla paused, Enoch sitting across from her...
Did he send them?
After accepting the flowers and setting them aside, she asked, "Did you send these?"
"Yes," Enoch admitted. "I heard you stormed out of your house. I guessed you were upset, so I came early to keep you company. But, you..."
There was a hint of disappointment in his eyes, "are ready to walk away from the one who brings you flowers. I guess, in your eyes, I'm just that insignificant, huh?"
Finishing his statement, Enoch's eyes took on a sorrowful expression.
Drusilla felt a tug at her heart, "Enoch."
Here he goes again...
A deep sense of dread filled her, suffocating her with frustration.
It felt as though she was completely under this man's control.
She loved him, yet she couldn't bear to see him like this.
She feared his overthinking, his sadness, his potential despair over his physical condition.


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