“I am not asking for a traditional marriage. I don’t expect romance or anything physical. I would never ask you for that. I only want to spend whatever time I have left knowing there is one person in the world who chose to call me family.”
I sat down again.
“Why me?”
“Because you walk into rooms where people have lost everything, and you don’t look away.”
His voice trembled.
“You don’t treat sick people like unfinished tragedies. You make them feel human.”
I didn’t know what to say.
Carl continued.
“I understand what kind of person you are. It would mean everything to me. It is the one thing I would like to do before I die.”
Every logical thought in my mind told me to refuse.
We barely knew each other.
People would misunderstand.
There could be legal consequences.
But beneath all those concerns was another truth.
I cared about him.
Not in the dramatic way shown in movies. Our connection was quieter than that. It had grown through cups of tea, unfinished chess games, ordinary conversations, and afternoons when neither of us had needed to speak.
I couldn’t bear the thought of him facing his final days believing he belonged to no one.
“I need to understand something,” I said. “Is this about money, property, or avoiding medical decisions?”
“No.”
“You’re not asking me to sign anything I haven’t read?”
“No.”
“Then why did you already speak to a priest?”
A faint smile touched his lips.
“Hope.”
I laughed through my tears.
“You were very confident.”
“I was terrified.”
I looked at him for a long time.
Then I said yes.
