I once thought love had an expiration date — that after enough heartbreak, hope simply runs out. Then one sunny afternoon at my parents’ barbecue, I met Steve, my dad’s longtime friend.
He was calm, grounded, and kind — a man who truly listened. What began as casual conversation grew into something real, something healing. Six months later, I stood in a white dress, heart open, believing love could begin again.
That night, after our small, joyful wedding, I found Steve sitting quietly, speaking to someone unseen. He was talking to the memory of his late daughter. Instead of fear, I felt tenderness. I held his hand and promised he didn’t have to grieve alone. Love, I realized, doesn’t erase loss — it learns to hold it gently.
