I thought saying goodbye to the love of my life would be the hardest thing I’d ever have to do. I had no idea that the real reason he came back into my life wouldn’t be revealed until after he was gone.
The rain tapped softly against the living room window of my little rented apartment, and I sat there stirring instant coffee I couldn’t really afford. At 73 years old, back in the town I’d left at 17, the streets outside still seemed to know my footsteps better than I did.
My pension hadn’t stretched far enough, so I’d pinned my old nursing badge onto a fresh uniform and gone right back to work at the local hospital. It was the same work I’d done before retiring.
My pension hadn’t stretched far enough.
Funny thing about coming home. Nothing looked the same, but everything felt the same.
I hadn’t married and never had children. There’d been dates over the years, a few kind men, but none of them ever became Thomas.
Thomas. I hadn’t said his name out loud in over 50 years.
Nothing looked the same.
He was my first love, back when we were both 17 and thought forever was a promise you could just make. I chose a college in another city. He chose to stay and work in his father’s business.
“Please don’t go, Nancy,” Thomas had begged me at the bus station.
“I have to, babe. I’ve worked too hard for this.”
“Then you’re breaking my heart.”
And that was the last time I ever saw him. Or so I believed.
“Please don’t go, Nancy.”
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