I met Richard when my daughter, Natalie, was four—right around the time I’d decided love just wasn’t in the cards for me anymore. My first husband, Alex, died suddenly when Natalie was barely a year old. One second he was laughing with her on the living room floor, the next I was a widow holding a baby who would never remember her father.
For years, survival was my only priority. I didn’t think about dating. I didn’t want anyone stepping into the little world Natalie and I had built from the scraps of grief. But Richard didn’t force his way in. He showed up slowly, steadily, like he had all the time in the world.