**The Gift of Life**
My name is Edward, and Im 61 years old. Life has been a journey of ups and downs, but lately, loneliness and nostalgia have woven themselves into my days. My first wife passed away eight years ago after a long illness that slowly took her from me. I cared for her until her last breath, and since then, Ive lived in silence. My children, now grown with families of their own, rarely visit. Once a month, they drop by, leave some money and medicine, and hurry off. I dont blame themthey have their own lives. But on rainy nights, when the drops tap against the tin roof and the wind slips through the cracks, I feel terribly small and alone.
Last year, while scrolling through Facebook, I stumbled upon Margaret, my first love from secondary school. I adored her when we were young. She had long, flowing hair, eyes as dark as midnight, and a smile bright enough to light up the entire classroom. But just as I was preparing for my university entrance exams, her family arranged her marriage to a man ten years older, from Cornwall. After that, we lost touch.
Forty years later, fate brought us back together. I discovered she was also a widowher husband had passed five years earlier. She lived with her youngest son, but he worked in another city and seldom visited. At first, we exchanged polite greetings. Then came the phone calls. After that, afternoon teas. Before I knew it, I was riding my old motorbike to her house every few days, carrying a basket of fruit, a few sweets, and painkillers for her joints.
One day, half-joking, I said, What if two old souls like us got married? Might that ease the loneliness? To my surprise, her eyes welled up. I quickly said it was just a joke, but she smiled softly and nodded. And so, at 61, I remarriedmy first love.
**Chapter 2: The Wedding Day**
On our wedding day, I wore a dark brown tweed suit. She chose a simple cream silk dress, her hair pinned up neatly with a small pearl brooch. Friends and neighbours came to celebrate. You look like a pair of lovestruck teenagers! they said. And honestly, thats how I felt.
That night, after clearing the remains of the reception, it was past ten. I warmed her a glass of milk and stepped outside to lock the gate and turn off the porch lights. Our wedding nightsomething I never thought Id experience again at my agehad finally arrived. I walked into the bedroom. She sat on the edge of the bed, waiting with a shy smile.
I approached. With trembling hands, I carefully unbuttoned her dress and then I froze. Her back, shoulders, and arms were covered in dark marksold, deep scars, crisscrossed like a map of suffering. My heart shattered.
She quickly pulled the blanket over herself, eyes wide with fear. My voice shook as I asked, Margaret what happened to you? She turned away, whispering, Back then he had a terrible temper. He shouted he hit me I never told anyone.
**Chapter 3: The Silent Pain**
I sat beside her, heartbroken, tears filling my eyes. All those years, shed lived in silenceafraid, ashamednever speaking of it. I took her hand and gently pressed it to my chest. Its all right. From today, no one will ever hurt you again. No one has the right to make you suffer except mebut only by loving you too much.
She weptsoft, trembling sobs that filled the room. I held her carefully. Her back was fragile, her bones slightly visiblethis small woman whod endured so much. Our wedding night wasnt like a young couples. We lay side by side, listening to the crickets in the garden, the wind in the trees. I stroked her hair. Kissed her forehead. She brushed my cheek and whispered, Thank you. For showing me someone in this world still cares.
I smiled. At 61, I finally understood: happiness isnt in money or the wild passions of youth. Its in having a hand to hold, a shoulder to lean on, someone who stays beside you all night just to feel your heartbeat.
**Chapter 4: A New Beginning**
As days passed, our bond grew stronger. Margaret and I began making new memories. Mornings were ours, filled with laughter and stories of the pastdreams wed had, things wed never done. We took walks in the park, enjoying each others company and the quiet beauty around us.
One day, as we strolled, Margaret said, Edward, I never thought Id be happy again. After everything, I assumed life was meant to be lonely. I looked at her. Lifes a gift, Margaret. Sometimes we just need time to find our way back to joy.
We made plans. A short trip to the seaside, where wed both been happy in our youth. We booked a little cottage, and the moment we arrived, the smell of the sea and the sound of waves wrapped us in peace. It was as if time had paused, letting us relive those golden days.
**Chapter 5: Facing Ghosts**
Yet it wasnt all easy. Sometimes, mid-laughter, Margaret would grow quiet, lost in thought. I could see the past weighing on her. One evening, watching the sunset on the beach, I asked, Margaret, what troubles you? I see you drift away sometimes.
She sighed, gazing at the horizon. Sometimes Im afraid this will all vanish. Ive lived with fear so long, I dont know how to hold happiness.
I took her hand. You dont have to be afraid. Im here. I promise Ill never hurt you. Together, well face any shadow from the past. She smiled, but her eyes held both gratitude and sorrow.
**Chapter 6: The Strength of Trust**
With time, Margaret opened up more. She shared childhood stories, dreams shed had, chances shed missed. We talked of her longing to paint, a passion shed never pursued.
I decided to help. I bought her a set of paints and suggested lessons. Its never too late to chase your dreams, Margaret. Her eyes lit up, and for the first time, I saw excitement in her face.
Painting became her joy. She flourished, her creativity blooming. Every new artwork she brought home filled her with pride. Look, Edward, this is our beach, shed say, beaming.
**Chapter 7: Community and Support**
As Margaret embraced her passion, she joined a local womens group, sharing stories and finding strength in their company. She transformednot just as an artist, but as a woman whod found her voice.
One evening, she said, Edward, I want to help women whove been through what I have. I want them to know theyre not alone. Her idea? An art workshop where women could express themselves. Together, we planned it.
The workshop became a haven. Women of all ages came to share and create. Margaret inspired them, and seeing her, my heart swelled with pride.
**Chapter 8: New Challenges**
But life wasnt perfect. One day, Margaret received a callher former husband, long ill, had passed. Though distant from him, the news shook her.
When she came home, tears in her eyes, I held her. Its all right to cry, I whispered. That night, as we lay together, I said, Remember, Ill always be here.
**Chapter 9: The Resilience of Love**
Through it all, our love grew stronger. Margaret learned love could heal, that scars could bring new chances. Together, we built a future of hope.
One day in the park, she turned to me. Edward, thank you for giving me a second chance. I never thought Id be happy again. I smiled. Happiness is a journey we share. Im grateful for every moment with you.
**Chapter 10: A Fresh Start**
Time brought changes. We moved to a larger homespace for her studio and our community work. Unpacking, we found a box of old letters wed written as teens. Sitting on the floor, laughing, I read one aloud: You wrote, Ill always be by your side.
Margaret smiled wistfully. And here I am, Edward. Right where I shouldve been.
**Chapter 11: Celebrating Life**
Her workshop became a hub for the community. We held exhibitions, women sharing their stories through art. The joy there was palpable, and Margaret, at its heart, inspired so many.
One afternoon, organizing an event, she said, Edward, I never imagined I could do this. Thank you for believing in me. I cupped her face. I always did. You just needed love to bloom.
**Chapter 12: A Legacy of Love**
Years passed, our life became a testament to loves power. Through every challenge, we grew closer. One evening on the porch, watching the sunset, Margaret said, Edward, sometimes I wonder how I lived without you. Youre my reason for being
