At seventy-three, I married my high school sweetheart because he told me it was the one dream he still hoped to fulfill.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The morning after his funeral, his attorney appeared at my door carrying a small box.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He looked directly at me and said something I would never forget.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThomas was right. You walked straight into his plan.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I never expected to become a bride at my age.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Thomas had been my first love.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
We were seventeen when we met, young enough to believe every decision would last forever and old enough to make choices that could change the rest of our lives.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I had earned a place at a college several hours away.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Thomas planned to remain in our hometown and work with his father.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
At the bus station, on the morning I was supposed to leave, he held my hands and asked me to stay.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cPlease, Nancy,\u201d he said. \u201cWe can build a life here.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Part of me wanted to say yes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
But I had worked for years to earn that opportunity.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My family had very little money, and college represented more than an education to me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
It represented independence.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
A future.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
A chance to become someone I had only imagined.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI have to go,\u201d I told him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Thomas looked at me for a long time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Then he released my hands.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou’re choosing your future over us.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I remember crying.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI’m choosing the future I worked for.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He shook his head.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou broke my heart, Nancy.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Those were the last words Thomas said to me for more than fifty years.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I boarded the bus.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He remained at the station.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
And life carried us in opposite directions.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I became a nurse.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I moved several times.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Worked long shifts.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Built friendships.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Lost people I loved.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I had relationships, but I never married.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Sometimes I wondered if Thomas had.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I imagined him with a wife, children, and grandchildren gathered around a crowded dinner table.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Eventually, I stopped asking mutual acquaintances about him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Some questions become easier to carry when you stop searching for answers.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Then, more than five decades later, I returned to my hometown.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
It wasn’t a romantic decision.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My retirement income was no longer stretching as far as it once had, and unexpected expenses had slowly reduced my savings.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
So I accepted a temporary nursing position at the local hospital.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I told myself I would work for a year.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Maybe two.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Then one morning, I entered a patient’s room with a chart in my hands.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I glanced at the name.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Thomas Whitaker.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n My feet stopped.<\/p>\n\n\n\n For several seconds, I simply stared at the page.<\/p>\n\n\n\n There had to be hundreds of men named Thomas.<\/p>\n\n\n\n It could be anyone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Then I looked toward the hospital bed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The man lying there was thin and visibly tired.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Time had changed his face.<\/p>\n\n\n\n His hair was white.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The strong shoulders I remembered had become narrow beneath the hospital blanket.<\/p>\n\n\n\n But his eyes were the same.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Thomas looked at me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n His expression changed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Then a small smile appeared.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHello, Nancy.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n My heart seemed to forget fifty-six years had passed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThomas?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n He gave a quiet laugh.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI was beginning to think you wouldn’t recognize me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I walked closer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI almost didn’t.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThat’s a polite way of saying I’ve aged terribly.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Despite myself, I laughed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n And suddenly, for one brief moment, we were seventeen again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n From that day forward, I visited Thomas whenever my duties allowed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n At first, our conversations were careful.<\/p>\n\n\n\n We talked about school.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Teachers we remembered.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Businesses that had disappeared from town.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The old bus station had been replaced by a pharmacy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The diner where we once shared milkshakes was now a bank.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Then the conversations became more personal.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Thomas told me he had never married.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I stared at him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNever?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhy?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n He looked toward the window.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI was busy.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I knew immediately that wasn’t the complete answer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n But I didn’t push him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n When he asked about my life, I told him the truth.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I had never married either.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Thomas smiled faintly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cTwo stubborn people.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSpeak for yourself.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI am.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n We laughed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n But beneath the laughter was something neither of us wanted to name.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Thomas was seriously ill.<\/p>\n\n\n\n His doctors had already explained the diagnosis.<\/p>\n\n\n\n His cancer was advanced.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Treatment options were limited.<\/p>\n\n\n\n We both understood that our reunion had come with a clock attached to it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Maybe that was why we stopped wasting time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n We talked about the bus station.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI was angry with you,\u201d Thomas admitted.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI noticed.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI thought if you loved me, you’d stay.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAnd I thought if you loved me, you’d understand why I had to leave.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n He nodded slowly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI was seventeen.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSo was I.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI didn’t know love and fear could sound exactly the same.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n That sentence stayed with me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n One afternoon, I entered his room and found Thomas unusually quiet.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He asked me to close the door.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Then he reached for my hand.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNancy.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n The seriousness in his voice frightened me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhat is it?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI need to ask you something.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThomas, you’re making me nervous.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou should be. I’ve been rehearsing this all morning.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I sat beside his bed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He looked at our hands.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI’ve had a long life,\u201d he said. \u201cLonger than many people get.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThomas\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cPlease. Let me finish.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I became silent.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI made mistakes. I spent years being angry about things I should have understood. Then I spent more years being too proud to find you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n His thumb moved gently across my hand.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cBut there’s one thing I never stopped knowing.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n He looked into my eyes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI loved you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n My throat tightened.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThomas\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI know how strange this sounds.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cIt sounds very strange.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n He laughed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThank you for making this easier.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI’m trying.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Then his expression became serious again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNancy, I don’t have much time.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I wanted to argue.<\/p>\n\n\n\n To tell him the doctors could be wrong.<\/p>\n\n\n\n To offer the comforting phrases nurses learn to avoid because we know promises cannot change medical reality.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Instead, I listened.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI always imagined marrying you,\u201d he said. \u201cWhen I was seventeen, I thought we’d have fifty years.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n His eyes filled with tears.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWe don’t have fifty years.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I squeezed his hand.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cBut maybe we have something.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Then Thomas asked the question.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWill you marry me?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I stared at him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He smiled nervously.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cIt’s all right if you say no.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThomas\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI mean it. I don’t want pity.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThis isn’t pity.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThen what is it?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I looked at the man I had once left standing at a bus station.<\/p>\n\n\n\n For fifty-six years, I had occasionally wondered what would have happened if I had made a different choice.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Now life had returned Thomas to me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Not young.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Not healthy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Not with decades waiting ahead of us.<\/p>\n\n\n\n But he was here.<\/p>\n\n\n\n And so was I.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYes,\u201d I whispered.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Thomas blinked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n His face changed completely.<\/p>\n\n\n\n For the first time since I had entered his hospital room weeks earlier, he looked almost young.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou’ll marry me?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI just said yes.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI need to be certain. My hearing isn’t what it used to be.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I laughed through my tears.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYes, Thomas. I will marry you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n A few days later, we were married in his hospital room.<\/p>\n\n\n\n There was no grand reception.<\/p>\n\n\n\n No orchestra.<\/p>\n\n\n\n No expensive decorations.<\/p>\n\n\n\n A nurse brought a small arrangement of flowers from the hospital gift shop.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Thomas’s attorney served as a witness.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I wore a simple cream dress.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Thomas wore a dark jacket over his hospital clothes and complained that the collar was uncomfortable.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou look handsome,\u201d I told him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou’ve always been a terrible liar.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n When the ceremony began, Thomas held my hands.<\/p>\n\n\n\n His fingers trembled.<\/p>\n\n\n\n So did mine.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He spoke his vows slowly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Every word seemed carefully chosen.<\/p>\n\n\n\n When it was my turn, I almost couldn’t speak.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I looked into his eyes and remembered the seventeen-year-old boy at the bus station.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Then I looked at the man in front of me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI left once because I believed I had to choose between love and my future,\u201d I said. \u201cIt took me fifty-six years to understand that life doesn’t always give us choices at the right time.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Thomas began crying.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSo today,\u201d I continued, \u201cI’m choosing this moment.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n We were married.<\/p>\n\n\n\n For one month, I was Thomas’s wife.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Thirty-one days.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Some people might consider that almost nothing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n They would be wrong.<\/p>\n\n\n\n We spent mornings talking.<\/p>\n\n\n\n We watched terrible television programs and argued about the endings.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I brought him coffee even when the doctor said he should drink less of it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Thomas told me stories about his father.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I told him about patients I still remembered after decades of nursing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Sometimes we simply held hands.<\/p>\n\n\n\n There was no need to fill every silence.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Then, early one morning, Thomas was gone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I was beside him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n His hand was in mine.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I had spent my career around loss.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I knew the procedures.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The medical language.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The quiet movements of hospital staff.<\/p>\n\n\n\n None of that prepared me to lose my husband.<\/p>\n\n\n\n At the funeral, I stood near his photograph and felt seventeen again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The same unbearable sense of separation.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The same question.<\/p>\n\n\n\n What if we’d had more time?<\/p>\n\n\n\n The morning after the funeral, someone knocked on my door.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Thomas’s attorney stood outside.<\/p>\n\n\n\n His name was Henry Caldwell.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He carried a small wooden box beneath one arm.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cMrs. Whitaker,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I still wasn’t accustomed to the name.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNancy is fine.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThomas left instructions.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n My chest tightened.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cInstructions?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cMay I come inside?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I stepped aside.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Henry followed me into the living room and placed the box on my coffee table.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Then he sat across from me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n For several seconds, he said nothing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhat is this?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Henry smiled.<\/p>\n\n\n\n It was a strange expression.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Almost amused.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThomas told me exactly what to say when I delivered it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I waited.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Henry looked directly into my eyes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThomas was right.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAbout what?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou walked straight into his plan.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n My stomach tightened.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhat plan?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Henry pushed the wooden box toward me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI think you should open it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n My hands began trembling.<\/p>\n\n\n\n For one terrible moment, doubt entered my mind.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Had Thomas hidden something from me?<\/p>\n\n\n\n Had our marriage been connected to his estate?<\/p>\n\n\n\n His business?<\/p>\n\n\n\n A family disagreement I knew nothing about?<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHenry, you’re frightening me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThat isn’t reassuring.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThomas said you’d say that too.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I stared at him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Then I looked at the box.<\/p>\n\n\n\n There was a small brass latch on the front.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I opened it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Inside was an old photograph.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I recognized it immediately.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Thomas and me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Seventeen years old.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Standing at the bus station.<\/p>\n\n\n\n My suitcase rested near my feet.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Thomas’s arm was around my waist.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I had never seen the photograph before.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Beneath it was a bundle of letters tied with a faded blue ribbon.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Dozens of them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Maybe hundreds.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Every envelope had my name written across the front.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Nancy.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n I picked up the first letter.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The date was from fifty-five years earlier.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Another was dated forty-nine years earlier.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Another thirty-two.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Twenty-one.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Nine.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Thomas had been writing to me for most of his life.<\/p>\n\n\n\n But none of the letters had been mailed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n My breath caught.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Then I noticed a small envelope at the bottom of the box.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Across the front, Thomas had written:<\/p>\n\n\n\n For my wife, after I am gone.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n I opened it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The first sentence made me cover my mouth.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Nancy, forgive an old man for setting one final trap.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n Tears blurred the words.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I continued reading.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I knew you would marry me because you still carry guilt about leaving that bus station.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n But I never wanted your guilt.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n I wanted to give it back to you and ask you to finally put it down.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n I stopped reading.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Henry remained silent.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Thomas’s letter continued.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He told me the truth.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He had followed my life from a distance.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Not obsessively.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Not secretly interfering.<\/p>\n\n\n\n But through old friends, occasional newspaper mentions, and the rare updates that traveled through a small hometown.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He knew I had become a nurse.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He knew I had built a life.<\/p>\n\n\n\n And he had been proud of me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n You did not ruin my life by leaving, Nancy.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n You lived yours.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n I was hurt because I was young and afraid.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n For fifty-six years, I worried that my last words at that bus station became a weight you carried.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n I began crying.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Because they had.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Thomas knew.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Somehow, he had always known.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Then I reached the final paragraph.<\/p>\n\n\n\n My trap was simple.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n I wanted you to become my wife long enough for me to tell you the truth.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n You never owed me the life you chose.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n You never had to apologize for becoming the woman you dreamed of becoming.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n And if marrying me for thirty-one days finally allows you to forgive the seventeen-year-old girl who boarded that bus, then I have received everything I ever wanted.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n I pressed the letter against my chest.<\/p>\n\n\n\n But there was one more line.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Now look beneath the letters.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n I moved the bundle aside.<\/p>\n\n\n\n At the bottom of the box was a document.<\/p>\n\n\n\n When I saw the heading, I cried out.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Not from fear.<\/p>\n\n\n\n From disbelief.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Thomas had created a nursing scholarship fund.<\/p>\n\n\n\n In my name.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The Nancy Whitaker Future Nurses Scholarship<\/strong>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n According to the documents, the fund would help students from low-income families attend nursing school.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Students like the girl I had once been.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The girl who had stood at a bus station with a suitcase and chosen an uncertain future.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Henry smiled gently.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThomas spent years building the fund.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhy my name?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cBecause he said you taught him something when you were seventeen.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Henry looked at the photograph.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThat loving someone doesn’t mean asking them to become smaller so they’ll stay.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I sat there for a long time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The letters surrounded me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Fifty-six years of words Thomas had never sent.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I finally understood his trap.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He hadn’t married me to take something.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He had married me to return something I didn’t realize I’d lost.<\/p>\n\n\n\n My peace.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Months later, I attended the scholarship fund’s first ceremony.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Five young nursing students stood on a stage.<\/p>\n\n\n\n One of them was nineteen.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Her hands shook as she accepted the award.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Afterward, she approached me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cMrs. Whitaker?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYes?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n She smiled nervously.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI almost didn’t apply to nursing school. My boyfriend wanted me to stay home.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n My heart stopped for a moment.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhat did you do?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n She smiled.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI left.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I looked at her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Then, unexpectedly, I laughed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cGood.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n That evening, I returned home and opened Thomas’s box.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I selected one of the old letters.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Then I sat beside the window and began reading.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Thomas had written it when we were twenty-two.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The final sentence said:<\/p>\n\n\n\n