She reached up and cupped my face in her hand. “So yeah. You’re stuck with me anyway. But not because you need to be. Because I want you to be.”
I pulled her closer, wrapping my arm around her shoulders and pressing my face into her hair. She smelled like vanilla and flour and something uniquely Trudy, something that grounded me when everything else felt like it was spinning out of control.
“I don’t want to keep living in the past,” I said against her hair. “I don’t want to keep drowning in what I can’t change.”
“Then don’t.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“It is, actually.” Trudy pulled back just enough to look at me. “You grieve. You feel what you need to feel. You forgive yourself for not being perfect. And then you choose to move forward. Not because the past doesn’t matter, but because the future matters more.”
I stared at her. This woman who’d let me into her life despite every reason not to. This woman who’d seen me at my worst and hadn’t run. This woman who challenged me and comforted me and made me want to be better than I’d ever been before.
“Marry me,” I said.
Trudy blinked. “What?”
“Marry me.” The words came easier the second time. “I know it’s fast. I know we’ve only known each other for a few months. But I’m seventy-two years old, Trudy. I don’t have time to waste. And I don’t want to spend another day pretending I’m not completely in love with you.”
Her eyes widened. “Stephen?—”
“I’m not asking you to say yes right now. I’m just asking you to think about it. About building a life together. About being there for Grace and the baby. About waking up next to each other every morning and going to bed together every night. About making this real. Permanent.”
Trudy was quiet for a long moment. Then she said, “You’re serious.”
“Dead serious.”
“You want to marry me? A stubborn, sharp-tongued widow who’s set in her ways and doesn’t take shit from anyone?”
“That’s exactly who I want to marry.”
She studied my face, searching for something. Whatever she found must have satisfied her because her expression softened. “Ask me again in a month. When you’ve finished grieving Christina and you’re sure this isn’t just you trying to fill a void.”
“It’s not?—”
“A month,” she repeated firmly. “If you still feel the same way in a month, ask me again. And I’ll give you an answer.”
It wasn’t a yes. But it wasn’t a no, either. And for now, that was enough.
“Deal,” I said.
Trudy smiled, leaning in to kiss me. It was soft and sweet and full of promise. When she pulled back, she said, “Now come on. You need to eat something. And then we’re going to sit on the couch and watch something mindless on TV, and you’re going to let yourself just exist for a while without thinking about journals or secrets or the past.”
“Bossy.”
“You love it.”
I did. God help me, I really did.
We stood, and Trudy led me out of the bedroom and down the hall toward the kitchen. As we walked, I realized something had shifted. The weight I’d been carrying, the anger, the guilt,the confusion—it was all still there. But it didn’t feel quite as heavy anymore.
Christina was gone. I couldn’t change what had happened between us. Couldn’t go back and be the man she’d needed me to be. But I could honor her memory by being the man Trudy needed now. By being the father Grace deserved. By building something good and real and lasting with the time I had left.
And maybe that was enough. Maybe that was everything.
“I love you,” I said as we reached the kitchen.
Trudy looked back at me, her eyes warm. “I know. I love you too.”
