At 40, I agreed to marry a man with a disabled leg. There was no love between us… – Page 3

On the table was a breakfast tray: an egg sandwich, a glass of warm milk, and a handwritten note:

“I went to the shop to fix a customer’s TV. Don’t go out if it’s still raining. I’ll be back for lunch.” – James.

I read the note over and over, my eyes stinging.

For the past twenty years, I have cried because men betrayed me.
But that morning, for the first time, I cried… because I was truly loved.

That night, James came home late, smelling of engine oil and welding fumes.

I sat waiting on the sofa, my hands clasped together.

“James,” I called.

“Yes?” he looked up, his eyes confused.

“Come here… sit beside me.”

I looked him straight in the eyes and whispered,

“I don’t want us to be two people sharing a bed. I want us to be husband and wife… for real.”

He stood still, seemingly not believing what he had just heard.

“Sarah… are you sure?”

I nodded, “Yes, I’m sure.”

James immediately reached out and took my hand – a warm, gentle grip, as if the whole world outside had melted away.