He was disabled in his right leg after a car ac:cident at the age of 17.
James lives with his oldmother in a small wooden house in the town of Burlington, Vermont, and works as an electronics and computer repairman.
He is quiet, a bit clumsy, but always smiles gently.
It is rumored that James has liked me for many years, yet he just didn’t dare say it.
I used to think, at 40 years old, what else can I expect?
Maybe, having a gentle person to lean on is better than being lonely.
Therefore, on a rainy and windy autumn afternoon, I nodded in agreement.
No wedding dress, no fancy party – just some close friends and a simple dinner.
I lay still in my new bedroom, listening to the rain falling on the porch roof, my heart filled with confusion.
James limped in, holding a glass of water.
“Here,” he said softly. “Drink this, you must be tired.”
His voice was gentle like the breath of the night wind.
He pulled up the blanket, turned off the light and sat down on the edge of the bed.
The silence was suffocating.
I closed my eyes, my heart pounding, and waited for something between fear and curiosity.
A moment later, he spoke softly, his voice trembling:
“You can sleep, Sarah. I won’t touch you. Not until you’re ready.”
In the darkness, I noticed him lying on his side, his back turned, keeping a great distance – as if he was afraid of hurting me just by touching me.
My heart suddenly softened.
I little expected that the man I only considered “my last choice” would treat me with such respect.
The next morning, I woke up, sunlight streaming through the curtains.
On the table was a breakfast tray: an egg sandwich, a glass of warm milk, and a handwritten note:
“I went to the shop to fix a customer’s TV. Don’t go out if it’s still raining. I’ll be back for lunch.” – James.
I read the note over and over, my eyes stinging.
For the past twenty years, I have cried because men betrayed me.
But that morning, for the first time, I cried… because I was truly loved.
That night, James came home late, smelling of engine oil and welding fumes.
I sat waiting on the sofa, my hands clasped together.
“James,” I called.
“Yes?” he looked up, his eyes confused.
“Come here… sit beside me.”
I looked him straight in the eyes and whispered,
“I don’t want us to be two people sharing a bed. I want us to be husband and wife… for real.”
He stood still, seemingly not believing what he had just heard.
“Sarah… are you sure?”
I nodded, “Yes, I’m sure.”
James immediately reached out and took my hand – a warm, gentle grip, as if the whole world outside had melted away.
