As the golden years of her life unfolded, Emily chose to wed a solitary retiree. Half an hour before the vows, a chime echoed through her home. She swung the door open, struck silent by what she saw…

He jumped up. “Hey, Emily! Been waiting for you!” He held out a single rose. “I didn’t ask you to wait,” she snapped, chin high, brushing past him. She was headed to the clinic, but he tagged along, chattering nonsense. “You gonna keep following me?” she huffed.

“Yup!” he grinned wide. She ran into him a few more times near her building, always ignoring him. Then, one day, they bumped into each other in a college hallway, both freezing in surprise.

“You go here?” James asked, stunned. “Why’s that a shock?” “No, just… fate, you know? I’m here too, fourth year, night classes. You?” “Second year, economics. What’s your name? You know mine, but I don’t know yours.” And that’s how it began.

Emily stared at the fireplace, rocking gently, lost in memories of life with James. He graduated, and they married. They rented a small apartment, then welcomed their daughter, Sarah. They lived happily, raising their girl, never facing major fights. James had a knack for diffusing tension.

He’d wrap Emily in a hug, kiss her nose, and apologize—even if she was the one at fault. It made her feel guilty for getting mad over nothing, teaching her that a kiss and calm words could solve most problems. His actions shaped how she lived. She recalled family trips to the lake, James rowing them in a boat, the oars creaking as he gazed at her.

“You know, Em, I wanna go first. I couldn’t live a day without you.” She’d scold him. “Jimmy, why say that? You think I could live without you? Let’s agree to go together.” They’d laugh. She remembered beach vacations, James snapping her picture by every statue or fence.

She’d protest. “Why always me? Shoot the ocean, the mountains!” “The mountains and ocean look better with you in front,” he’d grin.

Sarah grew up, finished college, and at twenty-five married a firefighter, moving with him to Colorado. Emily and James were alone again. She missed her daughter terribly, and James became even more attentive, taking her on evening walks and always bringing flowers—nothing fancy, maybe a sprig of lilac or daisies. But she always came home with flowers, hand in hand with her husband.

Some neighbors whispered, envious, and Emily would try to slip her hand free as they neared home. But James, sensing why, held tighter. “Ignore them,” he’d whisper. She recalled her milestone birthday. It was a weekend, no alarm, and she woke unusually late. James wasn’t beside her.

She turned and gasped. The room was filled with colorful helium balloons, tethered to the floor, swaying like soldiers greeting her. Each bore a message: “Happy Birthday, Love! You’re Only Eighteen! Congrats!” Then James walked in, smiling, holding a red box. He sat on the bed, opened it, and revealed a diamond ring…