Three years had separated Diane from the death of her husband when we first met.
And yet, in a way neither of us could have predicted, all those years had led us to the same place.
I took her hand.
“Ready to go home?” I asked.
She smiled.
“Which one?”
I laughed.
“Both.”
And together, we walked out into the morning.
For the first time in my life, I understood that the future wasn’t something I had to build alone.
It was something I could build with someone who knew that even the strongest things in the world sometimes needed a second pair of hands.
