For six months, he was patient. He never pushed. He brought soup when I had the flu and sent flowers to my office on a random Tuesday, just because.
When he proposed on the back porch in September, I said yes before I had time to overthink it.
And then, slowly, I began to overthink it.
It was the small things. The way he ran his hand along the granite countertop one morning and said, « You really have built something beautiful here, Maggie. It would be a shame for anyone to disturb it. »
Or the time he asked, very gently, over wine, « Do you have everything in one place, financially? Or scattered? I only ask because at our age, a single misstep can undo decades. »
I told myself he was being responsible. Mature.
The kind of partner who thinks ahead.
But then there was the waitress at the bistro on Fifth. Twenty-six, maybe. He held her gaze a beat too long when she set down his glass.
I noticed. He noticed me noticing. And then he smiled at me as if nothing had happened.
I stared down at the ring on my left hand. The diamond was a full carat, set in platinum, the kind of ring a man chooses when he wants to make a statement.
I twisted it once around my finger. Then twice.
« He’s just thoughtful, » I said aloud, to no one. « He’s just careful with money. That’s a good thing. »
