Coming home was strange.
Almost nothing looked the way I remembered, but everything carried the same feeling.
I had never married.
I had never had children.
There had been a few relationships over the years and several kind men who had tried to build a life with me.
But none of them had ever been Thomas.
I had not spoken his name aloud in more than fifty years.
Thomas had been my first love.
We were both seventeen when we met, young enough to believe that promises could last forever simply because we meant them when we made them.
I had earned a place at a college in another city.
Thomas had chosen to remain in town and work at his father’s hardware business.
On the day I left, he stood beside me at the bus station with tears in his eyes.
“Please don’t go, Nancy,” he begged.
