I pictured Ben and me getting married.
Rosie living nearby.
The three of us remaining connected forever.
I believed he imagined something similar.
He lingered on our porch after saying goodbye.
He remembered every detail I told him.
Sometimes, when our eyes met, I felt certain there was something neither of us had said aloud.
Ben kept his childhood promise.
He took Rosie to prom.
He wore a dark suit and brought her a wrist corsage made of pink roses.
When she came down the stairs in a sparkling blue dress, he looked at her as if nobody else existed.
I told myself that expression was kindness.
Years later, I would feel ashamed of how determined I had been to reduce his love to charity.
When I was twenty-two, Ben knocked on our front door one Sunday afternoon.
A small velvet box rested in his palm.
My heart rose so
