So I found it.
That evening I hung an old white bedsheet across our backyard fence and dragged out the battered projector we had owned since college.
When Samantha stepped outside carrying two paper plates, she laughed immediately.
“That thing still works?”
“Barely.”
“You attacked it with a screwdriver last year.”
“It responded well to firm leadership.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Turn it on before the pizza gets cold.”
The projector hummed to life.
The first image appeared.
We were nineteen again.
Sitting beside the lake with a pizza box between us.
Samantha covered her mouth.
“Where did you find that picture?”
“I kept everything.”
More photographs followed.
Our first apartment.
Road trips.
Hospital visits.
Family holidays.
Ordinary nights that somehow became the memories we treasured most.
Then the final image appeared.
I STILL CHOOSE YOU.
She turned toward me.
I reached into my pocket.
Dropped to one knee.
“We spent sixteen years waiting for life to settle down,” I said. “I don’t think it ever will.”
