Chapter 1: The Dying Sweetheart
At seventy-three, I married my dying high school sweetheart because fulfilling that dream was his final request.
I had never imagined becoming a bride at my age.
Thomas had been my first love when we were both seventeen. I was accepted into college in another city, while he planned to stay and help run his father’s business. At the bus station, he begged me not to leave. When I refused, he told me I had shattered his heart.
After that, we never saw each other again.
More than fifty years passed.
A few months ago, I moved back to my hometown and took a nursing job at the local hospital. One morning, I walked into a patient’s room and opened his chart.
The name at the top read: Thomas.
My heart stopped.
The man lying in the bed was thin and pale, but the moment our eyes met, I knew it was him.
From that day on, we talked every time I was on shift. Old memories slowly turned into something deeper. It felt as though the decades between us were melting away.
Then one afternoon, Thomas took my hand.
“Sweetheart,” he whispered, “I have loved you my entire life. I know I don’t have long left, but I’ve always dreamed of making you my wife. Will you marry me? It’s my final wish.”
I said yes.
We were married in his hospital room with only a nurse and his attorney present. No flowers. No music. Just the two of us holding hands while he spoke his vows with tears in his eyes.
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For one month, I was Thomas’s wife.
Then he died.
