I Married a Stranger from a Hospital Waiting Room So He Wouldn’t Pass Away Alone – After Our One-Week Marriage, His Lawyer Handed Me His Backpack
“Did the cafeteria lady’s grandson pass his driving test?” he asked once.
“I don’t know.”
“He was taking it Tuesday.”
“You remember that?”
Thomas shrugged. “She mentioned it.”
“You remember that?”
Another time, a housekeeper came in humming while she changed the trash bag.
“Morning, Lila,” he said. “That song again?”
She laughed.
“My mama loved it, Tom.”
“I know.”
She paused. “You remembered?”
He only smiled.
“My mama loved it, Tom.”
That was Thomas.
At least, that was who I thought he was.
A kind dying man.
A lonely one.
***
One day, he asked me to marry him.
“Marry me, Sarah,” he whispered.
I froze beside his bed with a cup of ice chips in my hand.
One day, he asked me to marry him.
“Thomas…”
“I know.”
“You’re very sick.”
“Yes.”
“We barely know each other.”
He looked at me for a long moment.
“I know enough.”
“Enough for marriage?”
“Enough to know you’re the kind of person who stays. My last wish is to leave this world as a husband, not as a nameless file.”
“We barely know each other.”
