I hadn’t known that two men who were gone would leave behind the words I needed most.
And I hadn’t known that the woman waiting on the other side of that door would become the person who helped me understand my own life.
I used to think the most important moment in a love story was the moment two people fell in love.
I was wrong.
Sometimes, the most important moment is the one when you finally understand that you are allowed to be loved.
Not because you have suffered enough.
Not because you have proved yourself.
Not because someone has chosen you over everyone else.
But because you are human, and the right person sees you clearly and chooses to stay.
That night, Diane opened the door to the reading room and held out her hand.
“Come on,” she said. “There’s something I want to show you.”
I followed her to the walnut desk.
