Later in life, I agreed to marry a man with disability — there was no love between us

in me. Whether it was true or mere speculation, James never spoke of it—except for his quiet, polite greetings each morning when our paths crossed.

By the time I turned 40, I had almost given up hope. I questioned whether I still had the right to expect anything from love at all. Perhaps companionship, kindness, and someone to lean on quietly was better continue reading …