After a lifetime of love, trust, and shared memories, I believed there was nothing left to uncover about my husband. We had built a life together piece by piece, year by year, until everything between us felt complete—understood without words, familiar beyond explanation.
I was wrong.
I’m 85 years old, and Martin had been part of my life for as long as I could remember. We met as children in a small church choir, back when my world felt smaller and harder to navigate. I was already in a wheelchair then, learning how to live with stares and quiet judgment. Most people didn’t know how to approach me. Most people didn’t try.
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