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first, then faster, until there was no distance left between us.
I touched his face.
Real.
Solid.
Alive.
“I never left,” I cried. “I stayed. I waited.”
He pulled me into his arms, and for the first time in decades, something inside me finally let go.
Not of him.
But of the waiting.
A month has passed since that day.
We’re getting married in the spring.
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