He had this way of making me feel special, as if I was the only person in the world who mattered. As I flipped through the pages, each photo brought back a flood of memories. There was our wedding day, a beautiful sunny afternoon in June. I could still hear the laughter of our friends and family, see the joy in James’ eyes as we said our vows.
We were so happy, so full of hope for the future. We had our share of adventures, traveling to places we’d always dreamed of. There was the trip to Italy, where we got lost in the winding streets of Rome and ended up having the best pizza we’d ever tasted. Or the time we went camping in the Rockies, and James insisted on making a campfire despite the pouring rain. We laughed so much that night, huddled together under a makeshift tent, feeling like nothing could ever go wrong.But then life happened. When I was 42, James fell ill, and despite our hopes and prayers, he passed away. The day I lost him was the hardest day of my life. The house felt empty, and my heart ached with a loneliness I couldn’t escape. For years, I believed that kind of love was a once-in-a-lifetime thing. I went through the motions, keeping busy with hobbies and spending time with friends, but something was always missing. That’s when Michael came into my life, two years ago. Michael was different from James in many ways, but he brought a light back into my life. We met at a friend’s dinner party, and his kindness and sense of humor drew me in. Slowly, he became an important part of my life. I felt that warmth of love again, something I thought was gone forever. So when he proposed six months ago, I immediately said yes. I closed the photo album, holding it close to my chest. “James, you’ll always be my first love,” I whispered, feeling a tear slip down my cheek. “But I think you’d be happy for me. I found someone who makes me smile again.”
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