into my eyes.
“Will you marry me?”
For several seconds, the room disappeared.
Fifty-six years of questions, regrets, and imagined possibilities seemed to gather between us.
Part of me heard Raymond’s voice warning me that I was being foolish.
But another voice—the voice of the seventeen-year-old girl I had once been—told me not to walk away again.
Thomas had advanced cancer.
He knew he was dying.
This was his final wish.
“Yes,” I whispered.
Tears filled his eyes.
Mine did too.
“Yes, Thomas. I’ll marry you.”
He squeezed my hand.
