Week by week, that review became coffee. Then dinner. Then Daniel fixing the loose hinge on my back door without me asking.

One evening, sitting on my porch, he looked down at his hands for a long while.

“I lost someone this spring,” he said softly. “My best friend. He raised his granddaughter after her parents died. Now she’s alone.”

His voice broke a little. I didn’t ask too much. I just placed my hand over his, and he turned his palm up to hold mine.

That was Daniel. He could say a whole paragraph with one small gesture.

Then my phone rang.

Diane.

My younger sister never needed a greeting.

“Margie, you would not believe the dock Roger is building at the lake house,” she said. “Custom cedar. Everyone at the country club is jealous.”

“That’s nice, Diane.”

“What are you doing? Sitting alone with your books again?”

I glanced at Daniel, who was smiling softly under the porch light.

“Something like that.”

“You really should get out more,” she said with a laugh. “You’re not getting younger.”

“I know.”

“And honestly, it’s starting to look a little pathetic.”

I ended the call gently, the way I always did.

Daniel reached into his jacket. He didn’t kneel. He simply opened his hand. A plain ring rested in his palm.

“I’m not rich, Margaret,” he said. “But I’d like to be your man, if you’ll have me.”

My hands trembled.

“Daniel, I’m fifty-six.”

“And I’m fifty-eight,” he said. “Sounds like perfect timing to me.”

I laughed and cried at once.

“Yes,” I whispered. “Yes.”

He slipped the ring onto my finger and kissed my hand like it was precious.

For the first time in decades, life felt like it was opening a door for me.

I didn’t know my joy would soon be tested by one phone call.

That night, I called Diane.

“Diane, I have news. Daniel proposed. We’re getting married in the spring.”

There was silence.

Then she laughed.