The appointments.

Oliver liked taking things off my hands.

At first, that felt wonderful.

He carried heavy groceries, repaired a broken kitchen latch, brought flowers without waiting for a special occasion, and remembered that Harry hated onions in his sandwiches.

He told my daughters that they deserved someone who could make their mother laugh.

Sometimes, after the children went to bed, we sat on the porch swing Sarah had helped restore, drinking tea while the trees rustled beyond the fence.

Oliver would take my hand and tell me I didn’t have to be strong every minute.

Nobody had said that to me in years.

Now we were four days from the wedding, and he kept returning to the same subject.

My house.