My mother had died that spring, and I spent most of that summer at my grandmother’s house because I couldn’t stand being at home with my father and all the empty rooms that still smelled like Mom’s perfume.
One evening, Wesley sat beside me on Grandma’s porch swing while I cried.
He didn’t tell me to stop. He didn’t say everything happened for a reason. He simply held my hand until I could breathe normally again.
That was the night I decided he was the person I would grow old with.
For years, nothing could shake that belief.
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