“Yes,” I whispered.
Tears filled his eyes.
Mine did too.
“Yes, Thomas. I’ll marry you.”
He squeezed my hand.
“You won’t regret it, Nancy. I promise you that.”
There was something unusual in the way he said those words.
It sounded less like reassurance and more like a carefully planned vow.
At the time, I believed he was only talking about our marriage.
I did not yet understand that he meant something far greater.
The wedding took place three days later inside his hospital room.
One of the nurses stood beside us as a witness.
