Sheila loved peppermint tea. Her husband preferred ginger.

Every morning, they would talk about the previous night's sleep, say their prayers and head to the kitchen. She would bring out two cups, pour their tea and sit across from him.

They argued about the most ridiculous things. Sometimes it was politics, sometimes the neighbours, and sometimes it was simply whose taste in tea was worse.

They had been married for fifty-two years, but watching them together, you would think they had only just fallen in love.

It had become their routine since retirement. Fifty-two years of marriage, and they still had something to say to each other every morning.

On Thursday, her husband left for the grocery store. They were running low on toiletries, and Sheila reminded him to get the brand they always used.

"Anything else?" he asked from the doorway.

"No. And don't spend all afternoon there."

He laughed and left.

He never returned.

By evening, Sheila had called the police. She called their children overseas, and everyone began hoping for his safe return.

The following morning, she brought out two cups.

Peppermint for herself. Ginger for him.

She did the same the next day, and the day after that. She still said her prayers, still made their tea, and sometimes caught herself looking towards the kitchen entrance when she heard footsteps outside.

A week later, someone knocked.

Two officers stood at her door.

They had found his body in a flower field. The ground was wet, and it appeared he had slipped. Beside him were the toiletries he had gone to buy.

Sheila listened without saying much.

Her husband never returned from the grocery store empty-handed. Sometimes it was a rose, sometimes a little yellow flower he had picked along the way. She always complained about the flowers he brought home, but he never stopped bringing them.

The next morning, she takes out only one cup.