I had spent years volunteering beside people nearing the end of their lives. I understood the danger of confusing compassion with love.
But what I felt for Carl was not obligation.
It felt like recognizing a room in a house I had never entered.
“All right,” I said.
The following afternoon, a priest married us in Carl’s living room.
When his hand shook too badly to slide the ring onto my finger, I guided it with my own.
He released a breath as though he had finally reached shore.
For ten days, I was his wife.
