I almost laughed at how ugly it was.
James.
My husband.
The man who had been missing for 56 years.
I sat down so quickly that one of the roses slid from the table.
« No, » I whispered.
Could it really be James? The man who’d been my husband for only two days, yet somehow remained my husband for the next 56 years?
Could it really be James?
***
James and I married in my parents’ backyard while he was home on leave. There were 23 guests, one crooked cake, and my mother cried through nearly the entire ceremony.