You had a history.
I—finally—had a happy story.
You built a foundation of family and security.
I searched 50 years to find this man, the one that fit.
You had 33 years and then the warning called cancer.
I had magic moments stacking up—until they stopped sudden, like his heart.
You bonded brick by brick: your boys, 12,000 dinners, 33 Christmases, birthdays, and anniversaries, 1,000 inside jokes, and 72 secret sorrows.
He and I tried the others and took so many wrong turns that landed us right where he called destiny.
You still held hands.
We held hope.