Some Feelings

I've been rejected again.  I know it's not really me.  It's a story I wrote that perhaps did not fit with the style of the literary journal I submitted it to, but it still feels like me.  Every time this happens I wonder why I'm still trying.  I know the answer is because I love writing.  I still continue to hope to be a published author.  I hope that people will read and enjoy my work.  I'm still a little sad.

Here's a snippet of the rejected story:

A pink rose, her favourite; he placed it on the hood of the car as he leaned back against the driver’s door. His beautiful red car, which he also loved. Ashley had always said that he loved it too much. He spent too much time with it. That was no excuse. There was no excuse for her betrayal.

What was he going to do when she arrived? Chad waited patiently a few doors down and on the other side of the street from her parents’ home, a home he knew so well. The home Ashley had moved back to when she left him. This was her home now, but Chad could not let go. Her home ought to be with him.

Would you change anything?  What would you do to make the story better.