The steady man who’d stayed by my side through it all. The one who never dated because he was already waiting.
“I’m furious with you,” I whispered.
“I know.”
“And I don’t know what I feel underneath that yet.”
Raymond nodded. “You don’t have to.”
“Go home, Raymond. I need to think.”
He went without a word.
Three days later, I stood on my friend’s porch with two coffees and shaking hands.
“I don’t know what this is,” I told him right by the door. “But I want to find out honestly.”
Raymond smiled like a man who’d waited half his life for that sentence.
Weeks turned into a slow, real thing.
On Sunday, Caleb and Noah came for dinner. Raymond carved the roast.
The wicker basket now sat on a shelf in the living room. It had become a keepsake, just as Raymond had intended when he took it after the twins entered foster care.
I realized that I’d been chosen all along. And I finally let myself be.
