In a cozy apartment, dim light filled the space, with only the glow from an electric fireplace flickering across the logs, softly illuminating the room. Emily sat in her favorite rocking chair, her eyes fixed on the dancing flames. She had always dreamed of having a fireplace.
But a real one wasn’t practical in a one-bedroom apartment in a high-rise. Thankfully, someone invented a device that mimicked the flames of a real fireplace and even warmed the room during chilly seasons. The chair creaked faintly as it rocked, blending seamlessly with Emily’s thoughts.
They say when someone passes, you hold memorials only for the first year, then celebrate their birthdays. But Emily always marked both her husband’s birthday and the day he left this world. Today marked ten years since she lost her beloved husband, James.
Just one year shy of their fortieth anniversary and two months from his sixtieth birthday. Earlier, she visited the church to light candles, then stopped by neighbors—friends they’d lived alongside for over thirty years—bringing pies and candies to share memories of her Jimmy. Then, as always, she retreated to her thoughts. Emily sat, gazing at the fire, a soft smile on her face as she remembered her Jimmy.
On the fireplace mantel stood his photograph, his joyful smile captured forever. Emily remembered snapping that picture the day she told him they were expecting a child. Their meeting was a story in itself. James was a part-time courier, working his way through college with night classes, while Emily had stayed home sick that day, skipping her own classes.
Her mom tucked her into bed, insisting she drink warm milk with honey. The doorbell rang, and Emily, throat wrapped in a scarf, shuffled to answer it. A short, lanky guy stood there, holding a package.
“Wilsons live here?” he asked cheerfully. “No Wilsons here!” Emily croaked, moving to shut the door. But the quick-footed guy wedged his foot in. “Hold on, hold on! No Wilsons? This your address?” “Yeah, it’s mine.”
“Then take what’s sent for you.” “Why would I take something meant for the Wilsons?” Emily rasped, her sore throat making her desperate to end the exchange.
“How do I know you’re not the Wilsons? Show me your ID!” he demanded, deadpan. Eager to get rid of the pushy visitor, Emily grabbed her ID. “Here, look!” She shoved it in his face.
He read her name and address, flipped the page, and nodded. “Well, alright,” he drawled, “my mistake. I’ll just write, ‘No such person at this address.’” With a wink, he bolted down the stairs. A week later, Emily stepped outside and spotted the same bold guy on a bench by her building…
He jumped up. “Hey, Emily! Been waiting for you!” He held out a single rose. “I didn’t ask you to wait,” she snapped, chin high, brushing past him. She was headed to the clinic, but he tagged along, chattering nonsense. “You gonna keep following me?” she huffed.
“Yup!” he grinned wide. She ran into him a few more times near her building, always ignoring him. Then, one day, they bumped into each other in a college hallway, both freezing in surprise.
“You go here?” James asked, stunned. “Why’s that a shock?” “No, just… fate, you know? I’m here too, fourth year, night classes. You?” “Second year, economics. What’s your name? You know mine, but I don’t know yours.” And that’s how it began.
Emily stared at the fireplace, rocking gently, lost in memories of life with James. He graduated, and they married. They rented a small apartment, then welcomed their daughter, Sarah. They lived happily, raising their girl, never facing major fights. James had a knack for diffusing tension.
He’d wrap Emily in a hug, kiss her nose, and apologize—even if she was the one at fault. It made her feel guilty for getting mad over nothing, teaching her that a kiss and calm words could solve most problems. His actions shaped how she lived. She recalled family trips to the lake, James rowing them in a boat, the oars creaking as he gazed at her.
“You know, Em, I wanna go first. I couldn’t live a day without you.” She’d scold him. “Jimmy, why say that? You think I could live without you? Let’s agree to go together.” They’d laugh. She remembered beach vacations, James snapping her picture by every statue or fence.
She’d protest. “Why always me? Shoot the ocean, the mountains!” “The mountains and ocean look better with you in front,” he’d grin.
Sarah grew up, finished college, and at twenty-five married a firefighter, moving with him to Colorado. Emily and James were alone again. She missed her daughter terribly, and James became even more attentive, taking her on evening walks and always bringing flowers—nothing fancy, maybe a sprig of lilac or daisies. But she always came home with flowers, hand in hand with her husband.
Some neighbors whispered, envious, and Emily would try to slip her hand free as they neared home. But James, sensing why, held tighter. “Ignore them,” he’d whisper. She recalled her milestone birthday. It was a weekend, no alarm, and she woke unusually late. James wasn’t beside her.
She turned and gasped. The room was filled with colorful helium balloons, tethered to the floor, swaying like soldiers greeting her. Each bore a message: “Happy Birthday, Love! You’re Only Eighteen! Congrats!” Then James walked in, smiling, holding a red box. He sat on the bed, opened it, and revealed a diamond ring…
“I’ve never given you a proper gift in all these years. Happy birthday, my love!” The ring was engraved, “I’ll Always Be With You.” He kissed her and slid it on her finger. “Thank you, Jimmy! But why does it need to remind me of you? You’re always here!” “Just in case,” he said. The fireplace logs crackled as Emily reminisced.
She thought of their first grandson’s birth, Sarah’s visits, and how James doted on the boy. Sarah would tease, “Dad, let him walk!” But little Tommy loved riding on Grandpa’s shoulders, wailing if set down. So they roamed together, grandpa and grandson. Then tragedy struck. That evening, James came home clutching his chest.
His shirt sleeve was torn, a scrape on his cheek. Emily panicked. “Jimmy, what’s wrong? Call 911?” Paramedics rushed him to cardiology. He never came back.
Later, Emily learned what happened. James was returning from a late shift, his car in the shop, so he took the bus. His route passed a wooded path. He heard a muffled cry for help and ran toward it. Two guys were dragging a girl into the bushes. James intervened, but they were young and strong. They let the girl go but turned on him, beating him badly. After they fled, James felt sharp chest pain—his first ever. He barely made it home.
Emily knew the rest. “I wanna go first,” he’d said. For ten years, she’d lived without him.
How did she cope? At first, grief consumed her. Over time, the pain dulled. She talked to him like he was still there, seeking his advice. Her heart started acting up recently. After a hospital stay, her doctor urged daily walks, ideally twice. Emily followed the advice, strolling the neighborhood path each morning. She skipped today but planned to go tomorrow. The morning was warm and sunny.
The path was quiet, a typical weekday. People rushed to work. A few young moms pushed strollers, and a woman walked a tiny dog on a leash. The dog yapped, sniffing trash cans, while the woman tugged it back. “No, Muffin, stop!” Emily smiled, passing by, then noticed a man on a bench, slouched unnaturally, clutching his chest.
“You okay?” she asked. “Heart’s acting up. Forgot my pills,” he gasped. Emily dug in her purse and handed him a nitroglycerin tablet. “Put this under your tongue.” She sat beside him. Minutes later, he breathed easier.
“Thanks,” he said. “You saved me.” “Don’t leave home without your meds,” she scolded gently. “I always do, but grabbed the wrong jacket today. Lucky you were here. You come here often?” “Every day, doctor’s orders. I live nearby. You?” “Just moved to the area. Swapped houses with my son. I’ve got a one-bedroom now, used to have a big three-bedroom. Sold it, bought this. Mine’s small, 180 square feet, but my son got a bigger one, 250 square feet. He’s got a wife, maybe kids soon. Well, he’s already got two kids, one from each ex-wife. He’s a mess. No steady job, no care for family.”..
“Why’d he turn out like that?” “We waited years for him, over a decade. My wife had treatments, and finally, Ryan was born. She spoiled him rotten, gave in to every whim. I tried raising him right, but she’d lose it. ‘He’s my son!’ I gave up. Let her do it. So he grew up like this.
Drove his mom to an early grave, heart attack. Married at nineteen, had a kid, left them. Didn’t work, didn’t pay child support. We helped his ex. He married again, another kid, left again. That kid’s got health issues, needs treatment. We supported them too.
His second wife lived with us for a bit, then her folks took her away, but we still sent money. Then he planned a third marriage, and my wife had a heart attack from the stress. I was done. Couldn’t live with him anymore. So we split.”
Emily studied the man. Refined features, neat gray hair, small mustache, and an open gaze. “What did you do for work?” she asked, sensing his educated air. “Worked as a factory supervisor till seventy, then they let me go. No hard feelings—time for the young folks. Us old-timers get park benches now.”
“You don’t look seventy-five. Sixty-five, tops. I won’t ask your age, but you seem plenty young. Let’s introduce ourselves.
I’m Robert Steven.” Emily flinched. “Robert?” “What’s wrong? Don’t want to share your name?” he asked kindly. “No, sorry, it’s just… my husband was Robert too. I’m Emily Diane, but you can call me Emily.” “Then call me Robert, if that’s okay.”
They began meeting daily on the path, strolling and talking about everything. Robert was fascinating, sharing tales of his travels. A month after meeting, he greeted Emily with a bouquet.
As she said hello, he spoke. “Emily, we’re both alone, not so young anymore. Who knows how long we’ve got to enjoy the sun and life?
The young have time; we don’t. I’m asking you to be my wife. No rush—think it over. Talk to your daughter if you need to.” He handed her red roses…
Emily walked home, lost in thought. Live with a near-stranger, adapt to his habits, take on new problems. Did she need this at sixty-nine?
That evening, Sarah called. “Hey, Mom! You sound off. You sick?” “Sarah, just listen, okay? Don’t interrupt, or I’ll lose my nerve.” She paused. Sarah waited. “You there?” “I’m here, but you’re not saying anything.”
“I’m gathering courage. Someone proposed to me.” “What? A job?” “No, marriage.” Silence on the line. Sarah processed.
“Mom, you seeing someone?” “No, we just met on the path. He had a heart episode, and I gave him a pill.
We started walking together daily, just talking. He’s seventy-five, retired factory supervisor. Calm, smart. I don’t know what to say to him. What do you think?”
Sarah pondered. “Do you like him?” “He’s interesting, polite, neat. But as a life partner? I haven’t thought that way.”
“Mom, it’s your call, but I say go for it. I worry about you alone. What if you have an episode? You might not reach the phone. Two’s safer, and you won’t be so lonely. Decide, and I’ll call again soon.”
As Emily hung up, the doorbell rang.
Her neighbor, Lisa, stood there. “Emily, hi! Could you give me a shot? My back’s killing me.” “Sure, get the syringe ready.” ..
After the injection, Lisa insisted on tea. “Try my pie—your recipe.” The pie was good, and Emily praised it. Lisa, slyly, broached gossip. “Emily, folks say you’re walking with some guy.”
Emily blushed. “Can’t hide anything. Yeah, Lisa, he proposed.” “Marriage?” Lisa gasped. “What’re you gonna do?” “I’m thinking.”
“Don’t think, Emily, go for it.” “Why so sure?” “Someone tried breaking into my place recently. Heard the lock rattle, but my dog barked and scared them off. You don’t have a dog. Someone could break in, knock you out.
Plus, you’re still young, take care of yourself, even wear makeup. Most of us gave up without men. People think you’re fifty, no wrinkles. You’re practically a girl!” Emily laughed. “Easy, Lisa, calling me a teenager.” “If he’s decent, marry him.”..
Emily weighed the pros and cons. At their next meeting, she agreed. “Let’s try, but we listen to each other and respect our quirks. Deal?” A month later, Emily awaited Robert for their courthouse wedding. She’d visited a salon for a hairstyle and makeup, donned a new pale-green silk dress and a pearl necklace, and glanced nervously at the clock. With thirty minutes to go, the doorbell rang. She opened it and froze.
The stairwell was draped in flowers and balloons. Every neighbor from her building stood there, each holding a rose. Beside a smiling Robert stood Sarah, clutching a huge bouquet of white-pink flowers. Robert wore a black suit, white shirt, and blue bowtie. As Emily opened the door, everyone shouted, “Congratulations!” Robert took her hands. “Ready to be together till the end?” Emily’s new life began beautifully.