Still, he was kind.
Not in a performative way, but in a way that remained consistent.
Nathan remembered what I said. He noticed when I grew quiet. He made space for me without making it feel temporary.
After years of uncertainty, that kind of steadiness felt like something I could trust.
When Nathan proposed, there was no grand gesture.
He simply looked at me one evening and said, “I don’t want to spend what’s left of my life alone, and I don’t think you do either, Mattie.”
I held his gaze, letting the words settle.
“I don’t, Nat,” I whispered, tears forming in my eyes.
And just like that, at 42, I stepped into something I had already convinced myself I had missed.
For the first time in years, I allowed myself to believe that maybe life had simply been waiting for the right moment to begin again.
Our wedding was small and simple, surrounded by people who genuinely cared about us. There was no pressure for perfection, no expectations beyond sharing the moment with those who had watched us grow into something real.
