I held the note, read it over and over, my eyes stinging.
For the past twenty years, I have cried because men betrayed me.
But that morning, for the first time, I cried… because I was truly loved.
That night, James came home late, smelling of welding fumes and engine oil.
I sat waiting on the sofa, my hands clasped together.
“James,” I called.
“Yes?” he looked up, his eyes confused.
“Come here… sit beside me.”
He walked slowly over.
I looked him straight in the eyes and whispered,
“I don’t want us to be two people sharing a bed. I want us to be husband and wife… for real.”
He stood still, seemingly not believing what he had just heard.
“Sarah… are you sure?”
I nodded, smiling through my tears.
“Yes, I’m sure.”
James took no time.
He just reached out and took my hand – a warm, gentle grip, as if the whole world outside had melted away.
It was the handshake that made me believe in love again.
From that day on, I no longer felt lonely.
James was still a limping man, still more silent than talking, but he was the strongest shoulder in my life.
Every morning, he made coffee for me, and I baked bread for him.
We never said the word “I love you”, but every little action was filled with love.