At Age 72, I Married My High School Sweetheart. Two Weeks Following My Eviction By His Children, With Only My Burial Dress In Hand, His Lawyer Arrived At My Trailer And Told Me, “Your Husband Made Sure You Got EXACTLY What You Deserved.”
In 1972, a boy named Desmond kissed me behind the bleachers and made me a promise I never forgot.
“Someday, Margaret, I’m going to buy you a diamond ring.” Life had other plans for us.
I married a good man. Desmond married a good woman. We raised families, buried spouses, and let fifty-three years slip by without ever seeing each other again.
Then, out of nowhere, he found me at a church bake sale. “You still wear your hair the same,” he said.
“And you still talk too smoothly,” I told him. Three months later, he asked me to marry him.
