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

of lemon oil and clean sheets. Rain pattered on the eaves. James limped down the hallway, slowly and carefully, holding two glasses of water like a peace offering. He set them on the nightstand and said, “If you need anything, I’m here.” It sounded like a promise to a stranger at a bus stop.
I lay there, counting the events. We got married because loneliness continue reading …