At the age of 40, I chose to marry a man with a crippled leg. There was no romance between us. Yet on our wedding night, when I lifted the blanket, I discovered something that made my body shake.
I am Rebecca Sloan, 40 years old. My younger years were wasted on broken relationships. Some men betrayed me. Others never saw me as more than a passing moment.
After every breakup, my mother would sigh and say:
“Rebecca, maybe you should stop searching for perfection. Daniel next door is a good man. He walks with a limp, but his heart is kind.”
Daniel Grayson is our neighbor. He is five years older than me. He lost the full use of his right leg after a car accident at seventeen. He lives with his elderly mother in a small wooden house in Maple Glen and repairs electronics and computers for a living. He is quiet, a little awkward, but always wears a gentle smile.
People whispered that Daniel had liked me for years, but never had the courage to confess.
I thought to myself, at forty, what more could I expect? Maybe it was better to have a gentle companion than to grow old alone.
So on a rainy autumn afternoon filled with wind, I agreed. No white dress. No grand celebration. Just a small dinner with a few close friends.
That night, I lay in our new bedroom, listening to rain tapping on the porch roof, my heart tangled in uncertainty.
Daniel entered, limping slightly, holding a glass of water.
“Here,” he said softly. “Drink this. You must be tired.”
His voice was calm and warm like the night breeze. He pulled up the blanket, switched off the light, and sat at the edge of the bed.
The silence felt heavy.
I closed my eyes, my heart racing, caught between fear and curiosity.
Then, moments later, he spoke in a trembling voice…
At the age of 40, I chose to marry a man with a crippled leg. There was no romance between us. Yet on our wedding night, when I lifted the blanket, I discovered something that made my body shake.
Rebecca Sloan was forty years old when she agreed to marry a man who walked with a damaged leg and a quiet heart. There was no whirlwind romance and no feverish passion in the decision. There was only the gentle exhaustion of a woman who had chased love for too long and found nothing but broken promises waiting at the end of each road.
For years, Rebecca had watched her friends marry, divorce, marry again, and speak of love as if it were a game of chance. She had tried it too, trusting charming smiles and poetic words, only to be discarded when novelty faded. Each disappointment left a thinner layer of hope inside her, until even hope grew tired.
Her mother often sat beside her in the small kitchen of their rented home in Maple Glen, a quiet town tucked between rolling hills and fields of wild grass. On evenings when loneliness pressed hardest, her mother would sigh and say gently, “Maybe you should stop looking for fireworks, my dear. The man next door, the one who repairs radios and computers, he has a good heart. He may limp, but he stands firm where it matters.”
His name was Daniel Grayson. He lived two houses away in a weathered cedar cottage with his aging father. When he was seventeen, a car accident crushed his right leg and left him walking with a permanent limp. He fixed electronics for half the town and never charged the elderly too much. He spoke little, smiled often, and never once looked at Rebecca with anything but quiet respect.
Rumors drifted through Maple Glen that Daniel had loved her for years but never dared to say so. Rebecca had noticed his glances, his small gestures, the way he always fixed her appliances without delay. Still, she had never considered him seriously, until the day she realized that waiting for perfection had left her alone at forty.
One rainy afternoon, wind rattling the windows and fallen leaves swirling across the porch, Daniel stood before her holding a single white lily.
“I know I am not the man you once dreamed of,” he said, his voice steady though his hands trembled slightly. “But if you would let me walk beside you, even slowly, I promise you will never walk alone again.”
Rebecca listened to the rain and felt the weight of her years pressing against her chest. She thought of empty holidays, quiet dinners, and phone calls that never came. She nodded.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Let us try.”
There was no grand wedding. No satin gown or marble church. Only a small ceremony in her mother’s living room, a few close friends, simple food, and candles that flickered in the evening breeze. When the last guest left, Rebecca lay in their new bedroom, listening to rain tap the roof like soft fingers.
Daniel entered, carrying a glass of water.
“Drink,” he said gently. “You must be tired.”
His voice was calm, like warm tea on a cold day. He pulled the blanket over her shoulders, switched off the lamp, and sat on the edge of the bed. The silence felt heavy, filled with uncertainty and fear. Rebecca closed her eyes, waiting for something she did not know how to name.
After a moment, Daniel spoke, his voice barely louder than the rain.
