The Woman Who Waited
Two years later, Rachel came into my life. She wasn’t flashy. She wasn’t loud. But she had a quiet strength, a patience that drew me in despite myself. She never demanded I put Catherine away. She let me speak Catherine’s name. She let me grieve.
Over long talks about work, then life, then futures that might be possible, I began to thaw. When I proposed to her, I was terrified. Was it love? Or was it gratitude that she tolerated my brokenness?
Rachel said yes. And she wanted to honor Catherine before our wedding. She insisted we visit her grave together.
“I’m not here to replace her,” she whispered, laying flowers on Catherine’s grave. “I just want her to know I’ll take care of you.”
Her kindness moved me. But it also terrified me. Because deep inside, I wasn’t sure if what I felt for Rachel was love—or fear of being left alone.
