I Saw Him in Her Heart
I have a secret.
When I touch someone, I see the face of the person they love most.
Since Natalie moved in next door when we were seven, I always saw myself in her heart.
At eighteen, when she held my hand—it was me.
At twenty-two, when she proposed—it was me.
On our wedding night, when she kissed me—it was still me.
On the morning of our third anniversary, I fixed the hem of her dress.
My fingers grazed her ankle.
Out of habit, I closed my eyes.
This time, I saw two faces.
Mine.
And some guy I'd never seen before.
That night, Natalie's phone lit up.
[Thanks for spending today with me, Natalie.]
Twenty-one years.
A hundred thousand touches.
And for the first time, I was wrong.