The Future I Thought Was Mine
As we grew older, Noah remained part of our family.
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He came over after school, raided our refrigerator, helped my father repair things in the garage, and sat
through Lily’s favorite movies so many times that eventually he could quote entire scenes.
My parents liked him.
At least, I believed they did.
My mother
wore a pale blue dress and insisted on having her hair curled twice because the first attempt “didn’t look fancy enough.”
Noah arrived wearing a suit and carrying a tiny wrist corsage.
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When Lily came downstairs, he smiled at her as if she were the only person in the room.
“You look amazing, Lil.”
She practically glowed.
I took at least fifty photographs before they escaped.
At the time, I thought Noah was simply being Noah.
Kind.
Loyal.
Protective.
I didn’t understand that something deeper had already begun.
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The Ring in His Hand
I was twenty-three when Noah appeared at my parents’ house one Sunday afternoon.
I happened to be visiting.
He knocked instead of walking
in, which immediately felt strange.
