“I’d protect them from every hurt in the world if I could. I hate that they’ve already had to experience some of it so young—at eight and ten.” He sighs.
For a moment he’s quiet, staring somewhere past me.
“And my ex-wife…” he continues slowly. “After a while, I started sensing the distance. We tried couples counseling, but by then I think she had already checked out—mentally and emotionally. I tried to fight for the marriage, but she had let go long before.”
A quiet ache settles in my chest.
“Why didn’t she try?” I ask gently.
He considers his answer, fingers playing with the edge of his napkin. “I think there were probably a lot of things that contributed to it. Maybe childhood things. But also… I think she wanted to experience life in a way that felt freer. I’m more systematic. I like routine. I can also say I’m probably quite protective.” He gives a small, self-aware smile. “I think she wanted more adventure. Something different to what I could offer her. But I wasn’t perfect, either. I know that. None of us are.”
I nod, encouraging him to go on.
“To me, marriage is sacred. When you make that covenant, it’s for life. You grow together. You wrestle with things together. It’s filled with ups and downs. Both will have flaws. It requireswork. But marriage is beautiful. It’s worth it all.”
I love the way he explains it. The conviction behind it.
So many people look at marriage like something you can step out of the moment it stops serving you. Insecurities come out, defenses rise up, self-protection walls are built. Ultimately everyone wants to love and feel loved. But love—the kind that lasts—isn’t just a feeling that floats in and out depending on the season. It’s sacrificial. It perseveres. It endures when things aren’t easy and when you don’t feel particularly lovable yourself. It’s a choice. A daily one. To choose to love even when it costs you something.
That kind of love isn’t for the faint of heart.
“I’m sorry it didn’t work out like that for you,” I say softly, reaching across the table to touch his hand. A small gesture, but it feels right. Offering comfort instead of just words.
He smiles, gentle and calm. “I wouldn’t have chosen it this way, but I know that God redeems our messiest chapters.”
His grin widens slightly, and he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his wallet.
I furrow my brows, confused. The food hasn’t even come yet. What is he doing?
He takes out a folded sheet of paper tucked inside and looks down at it for a moment, then back up at me. The sunset glow hits his face just right, and suddenly the moment feels heavier. Intentional.
“Lizzie, after I got divorced, I felt from God that I should write a list of what I wanted in a woman I would marry. Qualities of someone I would spend the rest of my life with—workingthrough life, through the ups and downs. I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life alone.”
My heart starts to beat a little faster, though I’m not entirely sure why yet.
“I wrote this list down,” he continues, eyes flicking between the page and me, “and I never picked it up again until I met you yesterday. I hadn’t met anyone who meets this list.”
He holds the paper out toward me.
“Until you.”
For a split second, everything inside me goes very, very still.
My jaw slackens slightly as I take the list, my fingers trembling just enough that I notice. The sound of the ocean seems louder than it actually is, like the world has decided to underscore this moment whether I’m ready or not.
Warmth and fear collide in my chest all at once.
This doesn’t feel casual. Not even a little bit.
Did it ever? Or did we both somehow know—quietly, somewhere deep down—that this might be where things were leading?
I look down and read.
Height. Age estimate. Loves God. Confident. Level-headed. Funny. Loves family. Beautiful inside and out.
I keep reading, each line landing heavier than the last.
I slowly lift my gaze back to him, completely gobsmacked.
