In Rose Street,
The old woman stood behind the counter of her flower shop, her wrinkled hands gently brushing over the petals of a bouquet as three men entered. Their expressions were hard, and their eyes cold as they approached her.
"You need to empty this place by the end of the week," the tallest of the three said, his voice sharp and demanding. "Orders from the owner."
The old woman straightened her back, shaking her head. "I'm not going anywhere. My husband opened this shop with his own hands. This place means more to me than you understand."
One of the other men scoffed, stepping closer. "That's not our problem, lady. We don't care about your husband or your memories. You have to leave, or we'll make you."
Her eyes flickered with defiance as she met his gaze. "You won't. I won't let you."
