Later, sitting together in her kitchen, we talked for hours. She told me about her new job, her small apartment, her dreams, and the loneliness that had followed our falling out. I told her about the empty chair at the dinner table and how I’d set it for her every year.
We didn’t dwell on the argument that had pulled us apart—it no longer mattered. What mattered was that we were together again.
I took her hand. “I thought the same thing,” I said. “But I never stopped waiting.”
Sometimes, that’s all love is—waiting, even when it hurts.
What That Birthday Taught Me
Continue reading…
