He attended her school events. He helped her learn to drive. When she cried after a difficult breakup at seventeen, he sat on the kitchen floor beside her and listened until she was ready to talk.
One evening, when Emily was nineteen, she came into the kitchen while Michael was washing dishes.
“Dad, can you pass me that towel?”
The word slipped out naturally.
Michael froze for a moment.
Emily froze, too.
Then she shrugged, suddenly embarrassed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make it weird.”
Michael put down the plate and hugged her.
“You never have to apologize for that,” he told her.
I watched them from the doorway, crying silently.
That was when I knew I had chosen the right man.
We married ten years ago, and for a long time, our life was ordinary in the best possible way. We argued about grocery shopping, laughed at terrible television shows, celebrated birthdays, and complained about the rising cost of everything.
