Part 1:
I believed that saying goodbye to the man I had loved for most of my life would be the most painful thing I would ever have to endure.
I made a mistake.
The real reason why Thomas had returned was not revealed until after his departure.
The rain gently tapped against the window of my small rented apartment as I sat alone, stirring a cup of instant coffee that my budget barely allowed.
At seventy-three, I returned to the town I had left when I was seventeen. The buildings had changed, the shops had different names, and many familiar faces were gone.
However, somehow, the streets still reminded me of them.
My pension wasn't enough to cover the ever-increasing rent and daily expenses, so I took my old nurse's badge out of a drawer, bought a new uniform, and went back to work at the local hospital.
It was the same profession I had retired from years before.
Going home felt strange.
Almost nothing resembled how he remembered it, but everything conveyed the same feeling.
I had never been married.
I had never had children.
Over the years, I've had a few relationships and several kind men have tried to build a life with me.
But none of them had ever been Thomas.
He had not spoken her name aloud in more than fifty years.
Thomas had been my first love.
We were both seventeen when we met, young enough to believe that promises could last forever simply because we meant them when we made them.
I had earned a place at a university in another city.
Thomas had chosen to stay in the city and work in his father's hardware store.
The day I left, she was by my side at the bus station with tears in her eyes.
"Please don't go, Nancy," he pleaded.
"I have to do it," I told him. "I've worked too hard to pass up this opportunity."
“Then you’re breaking my heart.”
Those were practically the last words he said to me.
