Later that evening, she came into the living room and sat next to me.
“Do you know what I thought when you helped me?” she asked.
“What?”
“I thought you were angry and trying to hide it.”
I put down my book.
“Why would I be angry about coffee?”
She gave a small shrug.
“Because that’s what I learned to expect.”
I took her hand.
“I’m sorry you had to learn that.”
She looked at our hands for a long time.
“I think it’s going to take me a while to believe you.”
“I know.”
“Will you be patient?”
I kissed her forehead.
“For as long as it takes.”
That was the promise that mattered most.
Not the wedding vows spoken before our families.
Not the beautiful clothes or the photographs.
It was the promise to keep showing up, even when healing was slow and progress was difficult to see.
