Within three months, neighbors started whispering.
Within five months, Evelyn began introducing me as “my dear friend Daniel.”
Within seven months, she asked if I would consider staying permanently as her companion.
Not caregiver.
Not employee.
Companion.
That word made something uncomfortable move in my chest, but I buried it.
I told myself she needed me.
I told myself I needed her.
I told myself every arrangement in the world was built on people taking what they needed from each other.
Then, one evening in early spring, Evelyn asked me to marry her.
She did it at the kitchen table after dinner.
No ring.
No candles.
Just her hands trembling around a cup of tea.
“I know people will think badly of it,” she said. “I am not foolish, Daniel. I know what they will say. But I have been alone for a very long time, and you have brought life into this house again.”
