Something we could share.
You never had to feel that you were taking something because you were sick.
You were simply having a drink with your husband at nine o’clock.
That was all I wanted.”
My vision blurred.
I wiped my eyes.
The letter continued.
“Do you remember our first year together?
You once told me that you didn’t want our marriage to become one of those marriages where people lived in the same house but stopped sharing their lives.
I never forgot that.
So every night at nine, I came to the kitchen.
Two glasses.
One for you.
One for me.
Sometimes you were angry with me.
Sometimes I was angry with you.
Sometimes we were exhausted.
Sometimes we barely spoke.
But we still sat together.
Thirty-five years.
That’s more than 12,000 nights.
And I would choose every single one again.”
I had to stop reading.
Emily put her arm around me.
