My name is Lillian Carter, and I turned fifty-nine the year I married a man thirty-one years younger than me. His name was Ethan Ross, and when I first met him, I believed he was the calm after a storm I thought would never end.
We met in a yoga class in San Francisco, the kind that smelled of lavender and rain. I had just retired from teaching, my back ached, and my heart ached more. The silence of widowhood had begun to close in, and then there was Ethan — patient, gentle, and disarmingly kind. His voice had the steady tone of someone who made the world slow down.
A Love That Looked Perfect
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