At 40, I agreed to marry a man with a disabled leg. There was no love between us…

I used to think, at 40 years old, what else can I expect?

Maybe, having a gentle person to lean on is better than being lonely.

Therefore, on a rainy and windy autumn afternoon, I nodded in agreement.

No wedding dress, no fancy party – just some close friends and a simple dinner.

I lay still in my new bedroom, listening to the rain falling on the porch roof, my heart filled with confusion.

James limped in, holding a glass of water.

“Here,” he said softly. “Drink this, you must be tired.”

His voice was gentle like the breath of the night wind.

He pulled up the blanket, turned off the light and sat down on the edge of the bed.

The silence was suffocating.

I closed my eyes, my heart pounding, and waited for something between fear and curiosity.

A moment later, he spoke softly, his voice trembling:

“You can sleep, Sarah. I won’t touch you. Not until you’re ready.”

In the darkness, I noticed him lying on his side, his back turned, keeping a great distance – as if he was afraid of hurting me just by touching me.

My heart suddenly softened.

I little expected that the man I only considered “my last choice” would treat me with such respect.

The next morning, I woke up, sunlight streaming through the curtains. Continue reading…