Sunflower Suzie stood rooted in a clay pot inside the glass greenhouse, and she could not look at her husband. A week ago she had been a woman. Now she was a sunflower with a thick green stalk and a wide yellow face. George had carried her out here that morning, cradling the pot against his chest like something fragile. Harold had come too. They wanted her near the warm glass and the sun. She wanted to be anywhere she could not disappoint them. George pulled a stool close and sat. His gray beard looked grayer. "The doctor says there's no change," he said softly. "But we'll keep trying, Suzie. Every day." Suzie had no mouth to answer. She turned her broad face away, toward the panes of glass. Shame pressed on her like weight. She had made a foolish bargain to help them, and it had gone wrong, and now she was a burden. George had to water her. Harold had to turn her toward the light. They had lost a wife and a friend and gained a chore. Harold stooped under the low glass roof. He was tall and thin, and he moved like a man afraid of breaking things. He set a small watering can beside the pot. "I brought you the one with the long spout," he said. "You always hated the splashy one." His voice cracked on the last word. That crack cut deeper than any blame. Suzie wished she could hide her yellow face in the dirt. She had promised to stand by both of them. Instead she stood here as a plant, giving them nothing. George reached out and touched one of her petals. He did it gently, the way he used to tuck her hair behind her ear. "You think this changed how I feel," he said. "It didn't. I married you. Not your shape." Harold knelt on the greenhouse floor. "Remember the night your car died in the storm?" he asked. "You were a wreck. I didn't love you less. I came and got you." He put his long hand flat against the warm glass. "This is the same. You're still here. That's all that matters." Suzie felt the sun warm the back of her head. She had been so busy counting what she'd lost that she had missed the plain truth in front of her. They were not here out of duty. They were here because they chose to be. Slowly, she turned her face back toward them. She leaned her stalk forward, as far as it would bend, until her petals brushed George's hand. George laughed, wet-eyed. "There she is," he whispered. The shame did not vanish. But it loosened its grip. Suzie no longer felt like a burden they carried. She felt like a wife and a friend they had chosen to keep. If they would not give up on her, then she could not give up on herself. She would find a way back. For both of them.