Just like that.
Just like that time he’d asked, suggested is more like it, and it wasn’t a knee-bending thing or a fuss.
Just like that time he’d said let’s move to a new place, and then he said it again and again and again.
Just like that time he’d held the new baby and cried a little over the perfect tiny toes and told the nurse he hadn’t realized it would feel like it does.
Just like that time they’d fought and made up and fought and made up again and … you know.
Just like that time the baby drained away from her, the one she thought would be a girl, and he didn’t know what to say but he brought her an angel to hang on her wall. To remember.
Just like that time he didn’t understand her but he tried.
Just like that time she’d cried in the night and he’d held her.
Just like that time they’d held hands, and laughed, and ran away from the children for a while.
Just like that time she told him it would all be okay. And the time he told her.
And after twenty-one years, it is.