I originally submitted this for a Micro Flash Fiction contest hosted by NYC Midnight. It did not advance past the first round, but maybe you'll enjoy it anyway.
Michelle wondered whether her tears would help or harm the plants. She decided that they would harm, especially since that seemed all she was capable of nowadays. He was watering them at the moment anyway - he always took such good care of them.
“If you spent half the time on us as you do on the orchids...” she couldn’t finish the thought. Then what? They’d be happy? She tried to ignore the sound of her voice cracking.
“I know what the flowers need. I can’t say the same about you.” Harlan answered, bitingly. “Besides, the flowers were for you. Back when I planted them, I thought they’d make you happy.” He crawled another foot away from her and tipped the watering can into the next set of stems.
An expert would have told them that the gift of the flower garden was an expression of love, as were the acts of service in maintaining it. The same expert would have explained that she wanted to hear his love affirmed, and expected them to spend time together, discussing their lives. Yet another expert would have told him he was over-watering the plants.
Michelle snuffled - it was a struggle to keep crying, after having done it all day. Harlan stood up and approached her.
“Maybe I do know what you need.” He entered the house and returned with a glass of water. She realized she needed to rehydrate. She drank the water, and hoped.