His wife had died a few years earlier after a long battle with cancer.

I knew that going in. I thought I understood what it meant.
I didn’t.

After the wedding, I moved into Michael’s house.

Our house, I kept correcting myself. Our house.

He carried my boxes in two at a time, setting them down carefully.

I watched him move through the rooms with such familiarity, and tried not to feel like a guest.

“Tell me where you want everything,” he said, smiling at me from the doorway.

“This is your home now.”

The words warmed me more than the house itself ever did.