Time was scarce at this hour in the morning, so Sandra didn’t give it another thought; she simply dropped off Erik at kindergarten before heading to work. In the evening they had dinner at her parents’ and it was only when she got home and had put Erik to bed that she took the time to think about the flowers.

She didn’t have any admirers so far as she knew. There was nothing particular to celebrate, no birthdays, no lottery wins, no pay rises, nor even her name day. Hang on—wasn’t it Erik’s name day sometime in May? Today, in fact, she discovered when she glanced at the calendar. But it wasn’t something they celebrated, and who wasted money on flowers for a three-year-old? With no card to boot—something he would probably have appreciated more than the flowers.

Botany wasn’t Sandra’s strong suit, but she thought the white flowers might be some kind of lily, with their splendid stamens and pollen that she knew left a hell of a stain. She recognised the other flowers, but she had no clue what kind they were. After googling for a while she had the answer. Calla lilies: she knew of these, but it was the colour that confused her. Sandra thought she had seen calla lilies that were mostly red, but probably other colours too. She hadn’t seen this dark purple kind, however, which were almost black.

White lilies and black calla lilies, she thought, a feeling of unease creeping in. It wasn’t hard to guess what the colours black and white might mean in some contexts, but what about the flowers themselves—did they have any symbolic value in the world of floristry?

Yes, lilies were a symbol of innocence. The Virgin Mary was often depicted with a lily, Sandra discovered, as an allusion to the immaculate conception. According to some sources, it could also symbolise conceitedness. The calla lily didn’t seem to mean anything in particular, except that it was often used in funeral displays. Like the regular lily.

Perhaps Sandra was supposed to be struck down by fear and nail shut all the windows and leave mines in the garden. She could have thrown out the flowers so she never had to see them again.

Instead, she got angry. And the flowers were very beautiful—carefully sculpted by nature’s own hand in some rainforest on the other side of the planet. So she left them in their full splendour on the dining table in silent protest and as a reminder of the contempt she felt towards that man.

Hallin’s venture was frankly infantile: insinuations about virgin birth and conceit delivered in newspaper on Erik’s name day with a clear reference to death and burial. It was clearly intended to arouse fear in her. To frighten her into withdrawing her demand and make her leave him alone.

Or what? Death and burial?

With the best will in the world, a bunch of flowers could hardly be considered a death threat in the eyes of the law—so getting the police involved would be the same as disgracing herself. What was more, she didn’t take the threat seriously. It was a final, clumsy gesture from a floundering man who already considered the battle lost.