She sees me.
On one knee.
Ring box open in my hands.
The emerald catches the light from the windows, green fire dancing in its depths.
Her hands fly to her mouth.
"Gunnar. What?—"
"I had a speech prepared," I say. "A long one. About how much I love you and how long I've loved you and all the reasons why I want to spend my life with you. But standing here, looking at you, I can't remember any of it. All I can think about is how lucky I am. How incredibly, impossibly lucky."
Tears are streaming down her face.
She's laughing and crying at the same time.
So beautiful it hurts.
"I've loved you since before I knew what loving you meant," I continue. "You were my friend first. My best friend. The person I wanted to tell everything to, the person I looked for in every room, the person who made every day better just by existing. And somewhere along the way—somewhere in all those years of watching you, wanting you, waiting for you—friendship turned into something more. Something I couldn't ignore. Something I couldn't live without."
"Gunnar—"
"I almost died without ever getting to call you my wife. I almost lost the chance to do this—to kneel in front of you and ask you to spend forever with me. And I swore that if I survived—when I survived—I wasn't going to waste another second. I was going to love you out loud. Love you completely. Love you the way you've always deserved to be loved."
I hold up the ring.
"This belonged to a woman who wore it for fifty years. Fifty years of love, of partnership, of choosing each other every singleday. That's what I want with you. Fifty years. Longer. Forever, if you'll have me."
She's sobbing now.
Happy sobs.
The kind that shake your whole body.
"Ingrid, will you marry me?"
She nods.
Can't speak.
Just nods and laughs and cries and reaches for me.
"Yes," she finally manages. "Yes. Yes, a thousand times yes."
I slide the ring onto her finger.
It fits perfectly.
Like it was made for her.
Like it was waiting for her all along.
She stares at it for a moment—the emerald gleaming, the diamonds sparkling, this tangible proof of everything I feel for her.
Then she's pulling me up, mindful of my injury even in her excitement, and kissing me.
Hard.
