At year five, Ryan proposed. I said yes.
And then I took a work trip to Denver.
I wasn't supposed to be in that part of town. My meeting ended early. I wanted to explore, find a local coffee shop, kill time before my flight.
I turned a corner and saw him.
Same walk. Same shoulders. Same way he tilted his head when he laughed. He was older — more gray in his hair, deeper lines around his eyes. But it was him. I would know him anywhere.
James.
My James.
Holding hands with a woman pushing a stroller. A little girl — maybe four years old — running ahead of them.