Her hormones changed the locks. Harmony changed the rules.One minute she's fine. The next she's a space heater with feelings, standing in the living room trying to remember why she walked in there, while a brand new chin hair waves hello.
Welcome to perimenopause, where the sleep is optional, the math ain't mathing, and your own body keeps improvising without consulting you first.
But Harmony has a system. Every symptom, every 3 am sheet change, every "it's probably just stress," every phantom bug and mystery smell gets exactly what it deserves: one bright, beautiful FUQUE flower, handed over with love and a raised eyebrow.
And somewhere between the hot flashes and the hormone charts, something unexpected happens. All those flowers she's been giving away start looking a lot like proof. Proof that she's survived every single thing this change has thrown at her. Proof that she was never broken. Proof that she can bloom right in the middle of the mess.
Sharp, sweaty, and gloriously honest, this rhyming romp is for every woman in the change, and everyone who loves her enough to hold a fuque.
You're not losing it. You're blooming. There's a difference.
