“The universe brought him back,” she said.
I believed that too.
A year after he walked into the bakery, he proposed at our favorite ice cream spot.
He got down on one knee and held up a ring.
“I made you a promise when I was five,” he said. “I would like to keep it now.”
I said yes before he finished.
We planned the wedding for the following spring.
The chapel was small and white, with narrow stained-glass windows and wooden pews polished smooth by generations of hands.
My mother helped me choose lilies.
My coworkers made the cake.
The night before the wedding, Leo was quiet.
I found him standing on our apartment balcony, staring into the dark.
“Nervous?” I asked.
He nodded.
“About marrying me?”
He turned quickly.
“Never about that.”
I wrapped my arms around him.
“Then what?”
He closed his eyes.
“Do you believe a person can do something terrible for a reason that started out good?”
I pulled back.
“What kind of question is that?”
He forced a smile.
“Wedding nerves.”
I should have pressed harder.
