Never. You brought me back to life. Three months later,
a letter arrived.
Evan was doing well. He was living with his aunt. His grades were improving. Daniel had filed for bankruptcy and was under investigation.
“I think about you sometimes,” Evan wrote.
“I hope you’re well. I hope you’re happy.”
I carefully folded his letter and put it in a small wooden box next to the torn prenuptial agreement and the wedding plan that never came to fruition.
Because not all heroes wear capes.
Some wear suits that are too small, carry envelopes that are too heavy, and walk into the bridal suite with nothing but the truth.
And thank God, that’s exactly what happens.
Daniel had a delicate texture, like a beacon to someone accustomed to weathering storms. He remembered the cinnamon in my latte. He asked if I’d made it home safe and sound. He never let me deserve his warmth.
After years of being with men for whom love was a trial period, Daniel felt safe. Like he’d settled.
After three dates, he told me over pasta: “I have a son, Evan. He’s thirteen. His mother left him when he was eight. We’ve been single ever since.”
“I’d like to meet him,” I said.
A twinkle appeared in his eyes. “Really? Most women are afraid.”
“I won’t introduce myself,” I joked. “Unless you give me a reason.”
