My hand flew to my mouth.
For one impossible moment, the fog disappeared.
“You wore yellow.”
A laugh escaped through my tears.
“It was the ugliest dress I owned.”
“You were beautiful.”
Behind us, Edward quietly turned away while Wren covered her mouth with both hands.
I slipped my hand beneath Benjamin’s.
He studied my face carefully.
“No,” he whispered. “I think you came and found me.”
Only minutes later, the clarity vanished.
But he had spoken my name.
That single moment healed a wound I had carried for more than six decades.
After that day, we stopped trying to reclaim the years we had lost.
I simply read to him.
Sometimes he held my hand without knowing why.
One afternoon, he asked quietly,
“Were you lonely?”
“Sometimes.”
“Because of me?”
I told him about the children I had cared for, the families I had helped, and the life I had slowly built.
“Loving you gave me more love than one life knew what to do with,” I said. “So I gave it away.”
Benjamin gently squeezed my fingers.
Several months later, Edward called before sunrise.
“I think it’s time, Isobel.”
When I arrived, Benjamin lay peacefully in bed with Edward sitting beside him.
A single red carnation stood near the window.
I sat on his other side and opened the book we had been reading together.
My voice trembled too much to continue.
Edward quietly took over.
When emotion stole his voice, Wren continued reading instead.
As dawn approached, Benjamin slowly opened his eyes.
He looked first at Edward.
Edward leaned close.
“I’m here, Dad.”
Benjamin then turned toward me.
His hand moved weakly across the blanket.
I reached out and held it.
“Still shaking,” he whispered.
“Only a little.”
He looked toward the growing morning light.
“Yes.”
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