I sat with him on my grandmother’s porch swing the summer I turned 16, after my mom had passed. He held my hand while I cried about her, and I thought, “This is the one. This is the boy I’ll grow old with.”
For a long time, that felt true.
I used to say it with pride.
Aaron and I moved into a small apartment after college. I worked at a marketing firm, he sold cars, and every Friday we ordered the same pad Thai from the same place.
But every Valentine’s Day, birthday, and Christmas, I caught myself glancing at his hands, waiting for a little box that never came. When I’d gently bring it up, my boyfriend would smile that same soft smile.
“Baby, a ring isn’t the main thing,” he’d say. “I’m saving. I want to do it right. I want to give you everything.”
