At 40, I agreed to marry a man with a disabled leg. There was no love between us. On our wedding night, I trembled as I lifted the covers and discovered a shocking truth.
My youth gradually faded into unfinished loves – some betrayed me, others saw me as a temporary stopover.
Every time I broke up, my mother would look at me and sigh, “Sarah, maybe it’s time to stop chasing perfection. My neighbor, James, is a good man. He may have a limp, but he has a good heart.”
Our neighbor James Parker is five years older than me.
He became disabled in his right leg following a car accident at the age of 17.
James lives with his elderly mother in a small wooden house in the town of Burlington, Vermont, and works as an electronics and computer repairman.
He is quiet, a little clumsy, but always smiles gently.
They say James has loved me for years, but he doesn’t dare say it.
I thought to myself: at 40, what else could I expect?
Maybe having a gentle person to lean on is better than being alone.
So, on a rainy and windy autumn afternoon, I nodded in agreement.
No wedding dress, no fancy party – just a few close friends and a simple dinner.
I stood motionless in my new room, listening to the rain fall on the porch roof, my heart filled with confusion.
