We chose a date. We argued about flowers. He wanted a large ceremony, and I wanted something simple.
We even chose a song.
After he disappeared, I never wore the dress I had bought.
I kept it for years. Eventually, it no longer fitted, and I gave it away.
But I never forgot the promise we made.
When you agreed to marry me, I felt that I had finally been given the chance to close a chapter that had remained open for most of my life.
I did not marry you because I mistook you for your father.
I married you because you were yourself.
You were kind when you had no reason to be. You made me laugh when I was frightened. You stayed when other people were uncomfortable.
I knew I could never recover the years I had lost.
But I could stop being afraid of the last day of my life.
