Then I got up.
Made coffee.
Opened the curtains.
And looked at Thomas's photograph.
“Forty-nine years,” I whispered.
I smiled through tears.
“You almost made it, darling.”
At ten o'clock, Julian arrived with Lucy.
She carried a bouquet of yellow roses.
“Happy anniversary, Grandma Margaret.”
I stared at the flowers.
Yellow roses.
The same flowers Thomas had brought to the bus station when I returned from caring for my mother all those years ago.
My throat closed.
“Thank you, sweetheart.”
Lucy hugged me.
Julian kissed my cheek.
“We thought you might like some company today.”
I nodded.
“I would.”
We drove to Mr. Harrison's apartment together.
He greeted us with tea and biscuits.
On the kitchen table sat an envelope.
Cream-colored.
My name written in Thomas's familiar handwriting.
For Margaret, on our forty-ninth anniversary.
I sat down.
Julian and Lucy remained nearby.
Mr. Harrison quietly stepped into the next room to give me privacy.
