I’m Eleanor, seventy-one, and for most of my life I thought love came once. But two years after losing Conan, the man who had been my heart, my anchor, my companion for over four decades, I married his best friend. It wasn’t an impulsive decision, not some desperate attempt to escape the quiet of my house, which still echoed with Conan’s laughter, his humming, the clatter of his coffee cup in the morning. No, it was different. It was a slow realization that life, even at this age, still had a pulse, still demanded warmth, still offered connection if I had the courage to reach for it.READ MORE
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