For 20 Years, I Got Flowers on the Same Day, When They Suddenly Stopped, I Went Looking for the Man Who Sent Them — Story of the Day

For 20 years, a mystery bouquet arrived on the same day, without fail. No card. No name. Just flowers from a boy I barely knew. But this year, they didn’t come. And that silence at my doorstep told me it was time to find out who—and why—he finally stopped.

We were drinking tea in my kitchen, me and Ethan — the kind of guy who always brought his own coaster and wiped it down before setting it on the table.

He had kind eyes and a soft voice, and when he laughed, it felt like a polite nod rather than a bellyful of joy. We’d gone out a few times.

He always opened doors and complimented my earrings. It wasn’t love, not even close, but it was... comfortable.

Still, that night, I couldn’t sit still. My legs bounced under the table. I kept glancing at the window, my phone, the door. Ethan noticed.

“Are you expecting someone?” he asked, tilting his head and smiling, like it was a harmless question.

I hesitated. Then I sighed and gave him the truth.

“Sort of. I’ve gotten flowers every year on this day for twenty years straight.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“Flowers? From who?”

I stared into my tea.

“A boy from high school. We weren’t close. Barely spoke, really. But the year after graduation, he sent flowers. Then the year after that. And the next. Always different. Always beautiful. Never a note.”

“Every single year?” he asked, a little grin playing on his lips.

“Every single year,” I said, meeting his eyes.

He chuckled.

“You’re kidding.”

“Dead serious.”

He leaned back.

“Okay. I’ll bite. Bet they don’t show today.”

I smiled. “You’re on.”

We shook on it — lighthearted, like it was a game. But the hours slipped by. The sky outside turned pink, then gold, then deep blue.

Candles flickered on the counter, making long shadows on the wall. Still, no knock.

I felt something turn in my stomach.

Then — finally — a sound. A knock on the door. I leapt to my feet, heart racing, already smelling roses in my mind.

But when I opened it, it was just Mrs. Pruitt from next door, holding up my scarf with a kind smile.

“Thought you’d want this before someone stepped on it.”

I took it, nodded, thanked her.

Behind me, Ethan laughed gently.

“I almost believed you,” he said, grabbing his coat.

“Almost.”

And then he was gone.

And I stood in the quiet hallway, staring at the empty step, wondering what had changed.

I spent half the night walking back and forth through my living room. I couldn't sit down. I couldn’t sleep. The question wouldn’t let go of me.

Why stop now? Why, after twenty years, would he suddenly stop?

My mind went back to last year. I remembered something odd—the courier had called ahead to make sure I was home.

That wasn’t usual. Normally, the flowers just showed up. But that call stuck in my mind.

Maybe, just maybe, I had a way to find him.

I grabbed my phone and scrolled through old calls.

Most numbers meant nothing. But then I saw one labeled “Flowers.” I tapped it, holding my breath.

It rang twice.

“Hello?” a man answered, his voice tired but friendly.

“Hi,” I said quickly.

“You delivered flowers to me last year on this date. I was wondering... do you happen to remember who sent them?”

There was a pause on the line. Then a soft chuckle.

“Ah, yeah. You’re the mystery lady, right? The one who never knows who the yearly flowers are from.”

“That’s me,” I said. My voice felt smaller than usual.

“Do you have the sender’s address? Or name?”

He hesitated.

“I’m not really supposed to give that out... company rules and all.”

“Please,” I said, softer now. “It’s important.”

There was silence. Then a sigh.

“Hang on. I’ll check the old records.”

Ten minutes felt like an hour. But finally, a message popped up on my screen.

An address.

I stared at it, heart racing. Then I grabbed my coat and keys.

Wherever this trail led, I had to follow.

The next morning, I opened my front door, still in my robe, coffee mug warm in my hand — and nearly spilled it.

Ethan stood there with a big grin, holding a bouquet of daisies and two theater tickets like a boy showing off a prize.

“Thought I’d surprise you,” he said.

“Matinee show. And your favorite flowers.”

I blinked, caught off guard.

“That’s… sweet,” I said slowly, carefully.

His smile faded just a little. “But?”

“I have plans.”

His eyebrows pulled together.

“Plans?”

“I’m going for a drive,” I said, reaching for honesty without giving everything away.

He tilted his head like a curious dog.

“Long drive?”

I paused. “A couple of hours.”

He stepped forward, hopeful.

“I’ll come. I’ve got nothing else to do.”

I hesitated. I didn’t want him to come. Not today.

Not when my heart was pulling me toward something old and quiet and unfinished.

But I didn’t know how to tell him that without hurting his feelings.

“Sure,” I said finally, forcing a smile. “Company might be nice.”

He talked most of the ride — about the office coffee machine always breaking, his cousin’s dog who wore sunglasses, and the road construction that never seemed to end.

I nodded, added a few polite laughs, even asked a question or two.

But my thoughts were ahead of us, racing down the road toward the address folded in my bag. The address I’d memorized the night before.

I watched the highway blur past the window and wondered — what would I find at the end of this road?

The house looked like something out of an old postcard — simple, quiet, and full of its own secrets.

The navy shutters were slightly chipped, and the porch swing moved just a little in the breeze.

Flowers — daisies, tulips, some wild ones I couldn’t name — stretched along the fence like they belonged there. Like they had stories to tell if you got close enough to listen.

I stepped out of the car, heart suddenly thumping louder than it had during the whole ride.

“Where are we?” Ethan asked behind me, frowning as he got out.

“You’ll see,” I said without looking at him.

We walked up the path, gravel crunching under our feet. I didn’t explain. I didn’t owe him that.

Not now. He followed anyway, his hands deep in his coat pockets.

At the door, I knocked gently. A pause. Then the knob turned.

And there he was.

Caleb.

Older now, yes — his face had lines it didn’t used to have, and his hair was grayer around the edges. But the glasses were the same.

The quiet eyes. That calm way of standing like he didn’t want to take up too much space.

He blinked. “Sarah?”

“Hi, Caleb.”

His eyes shifted to Ethan, then back to me. I saw something flicker — hurt, maybe, or disappointment — before he smoothed it away like dust off an old book.

“Can we come in?” I asked.

Ethan took a step back. “I should go,” he said quietly. “I didn’t realize—”

“Go ahead,” I said, still watching Caleb.

Ethan nodded once and walked off without a goodbye.

Inside, the house smelled like lemon soap and old wood. Caleb led me into a small kitchen where sunlight fell across a worn table with a pale blue tablecloth. We sat.

“I came to ask,” I said, voice soft.

“Was it really you? The flowers?”

He didn’t speak for a moment, just looked at his hands. Then he nodded.

“Yeah. It was me. I’m sorry I stopped. I thought maybe… maybe you had someone now. That it was time to let go.”

Caleb and I sat across from each other, the quiet stretching between us like a soft thread. Neither of us pulled at it. We just let it be.

“You sent them for twenty years,” I said again, slower this time, letting the words settle.

“Because I loved you,” he said. “Since high school. I didn’t know how to say it then. I wasn’t... brave. I thought if I said it out loud, it would break something. So I sent flowers instead.”

I watched him. His fingers curled slightly on the table like they were still holding something invisible.

“It started as a hope,” he went on, “then it became a tradition. Then just a habit. But still, it was the only thing that felt real. That made sense to keep doing.”

I leaned back in my chair, the weight of his words heavy in the air between us.

“I used to think it was strange,” I admitted.

“I mean, who sends flowers for twenty years without a word? But then… something changed. I started waiting for them. Like my birthday didn’t feel real until they came.”

He smiled then. Not wide. Just a small, tired smile that sat in his eyes more than his mouth.

“I just didn’t want to bother you anymore,” he said.

I shook my head, leaning forward.

“You weren’t bothering me. Caleb… when they didn’t come this year, it felt like something ended. Like I lost something that I didn’t even know was mine to begin with.”

His gaze met mine. And for a second, neither of us blinked.

“Would you want to try?” I asked.

His eyebrows lifted.

“Try what?”

“Being together,” I said, gently. “Out loud this time.”

He blinked, clearly unsure.

“How would that even work?”

I laughed, a real one that cracked something open inside me.

“You’re such a fool.”

Then I stood, leaned across the table, and kissed him.

It wasn’t perfect. Our noses bumped. My hand knocked over a spoon. But it was warm and honest.

And in that kiss, I felt it.

Twenty years of hope and petals finally finding their way home.

Tell us what you think about this story, and share it with your friends. It might inspire them and brighten their day.

If you enjoyed this story, read this one: Single mother Riley was trying her best to find love, even though it was tough. As soon as her dates found out she had a son, the romance quickly faded away. Her desperation grew, and Riley felt she had no choice but to hide her son. However, she immediately regretted that decision. Read the full story here.

This piece is inspired by stories from the everyday lives of our readers and written by a professional writer. Any resemblance to actual names or locations is purely coincidental. All images are for illustration purposes only. Share your story with us; maybe it will change someone’s life. If you would like to share your story, please send it to info@amomama.com.