A Friday in November

Like a ritual, Henrik received an anonymous present for his birthday. It was his eighty-second birthday. Every year, since her niece disappeared, a strange flower was delivered by post on the first day of November. The flowers were always beautiful and rare, always pressed and mounted in a simple frame. Their sender was always unknown too. The mystery tormented Henrik, who kept each of the frames on his wall. By that year, there hung forty-three pressed flowers on the wall.