PART 1

At 73, I never expected to become a bride again.

Thomas was my first love when we were seventeen. But I was leaving for college in another city, while he wanted to stay because his father’s business was here. He begged me to stay with him, but I refused. He told me I’d broken his heart.

From that moment on, we never saw each other again.

A few months ago, I decided to move back to my hometown. To be honest, my pension wasn’t enough to live on, so I took a job as a nurse at the local hospital — the same kind of work I’d done before retiring.

Fate has a strange sense of humor.

I walked into a patient’s room to administer his treatment. I opened his chart and saw the name Thomas.

I looked into his eyes and recognized him.

He was thin and very weak, but it was him.

Thomas recognized me too. He smiled and said hello.

We talked every day. He told me he’d never married… just like I hadn’t.

Our conversations became warmer with each passing day.

Then one day, Thomas quietly said:

“Sweetheart, I feel terrible asking you this. I’ve loved you my entire life. I know I’m going to die soon. But I’ve always dreamed of marrying you. Will you marry me? IT’S MY LAST WISH…”

I was so shocked I could barely breathe.

But I said yes.

Thomas had stage 4 cancer. I decided I would grant his final wish.

Just a few days later, we were married in his hospital room.

His eyes were shining. So were mine.

But a month later he passed away.

My heart was shattered. I truly mourned him.

The day after the funeral, someone knocked on my door.

It was Thomas’s lawyer.

He smiled and said:

“Thomas was right. You finally walked right into his trap.”

My hands were shaking as he handed me a BOX.

When I opened it, I SCREAMED at the top of my lungs when I saw WHAT Thomas had left for me. I thought saying goodbye to the love of my life would be the hardest thing I’d ever have to do. I had no idea that the real reason he came back into my life wouldn’t be revealed until after he was gone.

The rain tapped softly against the living room window of my little rented apartment, and I sat there stirring instant coffee I couldn’t really afford. At 73 years old, back in the town I’d left at 17, the streets outside still seemed to know my footsteps better than I did.

My pension hadn’t stretched far enough, so I’d pinned my old nursing badge onto a fresh uniform and gone right back to work at the local hospital. It was the same work I’d done before retiring.

Funny thing about coming home. Nothing looked the same, but everything felt the same.

I hadn’t married and never had children. There’d been dates over the years, a few kind men, but none of them ever became Thomas.

Thomas. I hadn’t said his name out loud in over 50 years.

He was my first love, back when we were both 17 and thought forever was a promise you could just make. I chose a college in another city. He chose to stay and work in his father’s business.

“Please don’t go, Evelyn,” Thomas had begged me at the bus station.

“I have to, babe. I’ve worked too hard for this.”

“Then you’re breaking my heart.”

And that was the last time I ever saw him. Or so I believed.

The phone rang, pulling me back into the present. I already knew who it was before I picked up.

“Evelyn, honey, it’s Raymond. Just checking in on my favorite cousin.”

Favorite cousin. We’d barely spoken in 30 years. But since I’d moved back, Raymond called almost every week, always cheerful, always circling the same questions.

“How’s the apartment treating you? Rent’s a killer at our age, isn’t it?” he said.

“I’m managing, Raymond.”

“You got everything squared away? Paperwork, will, that sort of thing? A woman living alone needs to be careful.”

I forced a smile into my voice.

“I’m fine, dear. Really.”

“You know, I used to visit Aunt Margaret every week before she passed. Helped her with all her affairs. Family should look after each other, don’t you think?”

Something about the way he said it made my coffee taste bitter. I couldn’t put my finger on why.

“That’s kind of you, Raymond. I have to run. My shift starts soon.”

I hung up before he could stretch the call any longer.

The hospital hallway smelled the way hospital hallways always do: of disinfectant and quiet human worry. I pushed my cart down the corridor, checking room numbers, tired already, and it wasn’t even 10 a.m.

Room 220. New admission. Long-term care.

I pushed the door open, stepped inside, and opened the chart the way I always did. My eyes skimmed the top line, then stopped.

Thomas.

I stared at the last name printed beneath it. My mouth went dry. It couldn’t be. There had to be a thousand men with that name in this state alone.