His name was Luis.
We ended up talking for an hour, then two. He came back the next week, and the week after that. Always with a new question. Always with that same patient smile.
Eventually, he asked if I wanted to get coffee after my shift. I said yes, but I was scared. I wasn’t sure if I was ready.
He made it easy, though. Never pushed. Never rushed.
Our first few dates were slow, sweet. He was the kind of man who actually listened. Who opened doors without making a show of it. Who remembered the name of my cat, even though I didn’t have one.
We dated for six months before I told him everything.
About the wedding. The betrayal. The guilt I still sometimes carried.
He didn’t flinch. He just held my hand and said, “I’m sorry that happened to you. But I’m glad you walked away.”
We didn’t talk about marriage much. Not at first. I think we both knew I needed time.
