Every two weeks a dozen long-stemmed roses were on her desk at work. At least once a week he made arrangements for dinner at a nice restaurant and secured tickets for the theater, usually in the first few rows of the playhouse. Also at least once a week she would find small slips of paper that had been carefully rolled up and placed in her purse or a pocket of a shirt or even in her makeup compact.
Those slips of paper, when unrolled, would feature short, artfully crafted declarations of love and loyalty, of undying devotion and exquisite assurances of eternal commitment.
She was always effusive with gratitude for the attention, and even wrote small notes herself, which would be left in places where he was sure to find them.
It all ended with a dull thud however, the day when he, while attempting to discreetly place one of the rolled up slips of paper in the pocket of her favorite red wool coat, found another small slip of paper addressed to her that expressed longing and desire of an explicit sexual nature...written in another man's hand.
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