Chapter 19
I was eighty years old.
Mark was eighty-two.
We had been married for fifty-five years.
Fifty-five wonderful years.
Yes, there had been hard times.
Terrible times.
But there had also been good times.
Wonderful times.
And the good had far outweighed the bad.
We were still living in the same house.
The house where Evelyn had thrown the vase.
Where we had found the bugs.
Where we had raised our children.
Where we had built our life.
It was our home.
And we loved it.
Our family came to visit every Sunday.
Dinner. All of us.
The house was full of noise and laughter and love.
Our children. Our grandchildren. Our great-grandchildren.
It was chaotic. It was wonderful.
One Sunday, after dinner, Mark and I were sitting in the living room.
Watching the kids play.
Mark took my hand.
"Do you remember the day we moved in?" he asked.
I smiled.
"How could I forget?"
He laughed.
"It was the worst day of my life," he said. "And the best. Because even though everything went wrong... it led us here. To this. To our family."
He squeezed my hand.
"I love you," he said. "More than anything. Thank you for fighting for us. For never giving up on me. On us."
"I love you too," I said. "And I would do it all again. Every terrible moment. Every scary moment. Because it led me here. To you. To our family."
We sat there together.
Watching our family.
Enjoying the peace.
Enjoying the love.
And then...
Mark's breathing changed.
He looked at me.
And he smiled.
A soft, loving smile.
"I love you," he whispered.
And then he was gone.
Just like that.
Peacefully.
In our home.
Surrounded by family.
Holding my hand.
May you like
He was gone.
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