“Are you sure?”
I understood what he was really asking.
Not about the wedding.
About him.
About us.
About whether the life we had rebuilt was solid enough to stand on.
“Yes.”
His eyes searched mine.
“I’m sure because you stayed when staying became ordinary.”
He swallowed.
“That might be the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”
“It wasn’t entirely a compliment.”
“I’ll take it anyway.”
He kissed my forehead.
Then walked outside to wait for me.
Years later, people sometimes asked how Logan and I got back together.
They expected a dramatic story.
I could have given them one.
There was certainly enough material.
A hospital.
A crying physician.
A hidden adoption.
A lost letter.
An estranged father.
A man who ran away and somehow found his way back.
But that wasn’t really the story.
The real story happened afterward.
It happened every time Logan called when he was running late.
