When our basement flooded, he found a contractor.
He remembered birthdays.
He never forgot the anniversary of the accident.
For three years, he never made a romantic move.
That patience convinced me he was a good man.
Then, one evening, after my daughters had gone to bed, he found me crying over an old photograph.
“You deserve to be happy again, Emily,” he said.
I told him I didn’t know how.
He took my hand.
“Then maybe someone should help you remember.”
Our relationship began slowly.
My oldest daughters were suspicious, especially Hannah.
But Miles never pressured them.
He waited.
He listened.
He smiled.
Eventually, even Hannah softened.
Six months before Sophie discovered the letter, Miles proposed.
I hadn’t accepted yet.
I told him I needed time.
He kissed my forehead and promised he could wait forever.
Now, sitting in my dark bedroom with Grant’s warning pressed between my fingers, I remembered something that had once seemed insignificant.
