I’d spent thirty-eight years teaching children and had retired with modest savings. Our lives were completely different, but Daniel always insisted that I gave him something money couldn’t purchase.
“You’re the only person who makes me feel completely at peace.”
He remembered everything about me, from my favorite flowers to my mother’s recipes and the books I’d loved as a child. Our wedding was beautiful, and the first few months of marriage felt almost too wonderful to be real.
Every morning, Daniel brought me breakfast and encouraged me to relax instead of worrying about household chores. Sometimes, I’d catch him quietly watching me while I read in the living room.
“Why are you staring at me?”
“Just making sure you’re really here.”
Back then, I thought his answer was romantic. I had no idea how differently I would eventually understand those words.
Three months after our wedding, Daniel insisted that I undergo a comprehensive examination at a private medical clinic. Although I’d already completed my annual checkup, he claimed the facility offered more advanced screening.
