We built a modest but comfortable life. We bought our own house, raised our children, and eventually watched them leave home to build families of their own.
We even survived the years when our children were teenagers and seemed determined to test every boundary we had ever established.
Through it all, I believed our marriage had one great advantage: we knew each other too well to be easily fooled.
I knew the sound of Daniel’s footsteps in the hallway. I could recognize his car before it turned into our street. I knew when he was worried, when he was hiding a surprise, and when something had upset him even if he insisted that everything was fine.
I thought forty years together had made us nearly impossible to deceive.
That was why our fortieth anniversary mattered so much to me.
I didn’t want an expensive vacation or a mountain of gifts. I wanted one beautiful evening surrounded by the people who had witnessed our life together.
