So I answered him.
At first, my answers were short.
Then they got longer.
Soon enough, our conversations became a daily custom.
I was wondering how I slept.
What I had eaten.
What I was thinking.
What a scare me.
He seemed to know exactly what to say at the right time.
In his photos he was incredibly attractive.
Young, tall, well-groomed, with a sure expression.
Of those men who make people ask:
“How could such a man fall in love with a 68-year-old woman?”
I was asking myself that question, too.
But he always said to me:
“I don’t see your age. I see your soul.”
Then, one day, he proposed that we meet in person.
I thought about it for a long time.
I was scared.
I was nervous.
I even stood in front of the mirror and said to myself,
“Margaret, have you gone crazy? He is much younger than you.”
But another voice within me whispered:
“Why not? Do you no longer have the right to be loved?”
So I accepted.
On the day of our meeting I prepared myself as I had prepared many years ago for my first dinner with my husband.
I made my most beautiful dress.
I managed my hair.
I put on some perfume.
My heart was beating strongly.
