I married my high school sweetheart at 70 — two weeks after his children threw me out with only the dress I was wearing #2

With all its wrong turns.

Its missed letters.

Its marriages.

Its funerals.

Its rain.

Its second chances.

Its imperfect people.

Its doors opening late.

That night, before bed, I placed Thomas’s final letter in the drawer beside Robert’s photograph.

Then I turned off the lamp.

Outside, rain fell across Evelyn’s garden.

And for the first time since Thomas died, I did not dream about the boy who had once walked me home.

I dreamed about morning.