After 65 Years of Marriage, I Opened My Husband’s Locked Drawer – Inside, I Found a Stack of Letters, and My Knees Buckled When I Saw Who They Were Addressed To

Then one day, Martin showed up.

He just walked over and said, “Hey,” as if it were the most normal thing in the world. “You sing alto, too?”

That’s how it started.

I’d gotten used to the stares.

We became close friends right away. He’d push my chair without asking, argue with me about music, and sit beside me even when there were empty seats elsewhere.

Later, somewhere between rehearsals and our friendship, we started dating. Martin never once made me feel different. In fact, it never bothered him that I was in a wheelchair.

When we turned 20, he proposed, saying, “I don’t want to do life without you.”

And of course, I said yes.

We became close friends right away.

***

Martin and I built everything together.

A house that always felt full. Two kids, Jane and Jake, who grew up faster than I was ready for. Then the grandchildren filled the quiet spaces.

When you’ve known someone that long, they become part of how you understand the world, like breathing and time itself.

You don’t think about what life would look like without them.

Until one day, you have to.

Martin and I built everything together.

***

This winter, Martin died.

I remember sitting beside him at the end, holding his hand, talking to him.

I kept thinking, say something important, something that matters.

But when the moment came, all I could say was, “I’m right here.”

And then… he wasn’t.

Losing him was very hard for me.