At 61, I Remarried My First Love: On Our Wedding Night, Just As I Undressed My Wife, I Was Sh0cked and Heartbroken to See…

I held her tight. Her spine was frail, and her bones protruded slightly – this petite woman had experienced a lifetime of silence and agony.

Our wedding night was unlike those of younger couples. We just lay beside each other, listening to the crickets chirping in the courtyard and the wind rustling through the trees. I stroked her hair and kissed her forehead. She stroked my cheek and whispered:

– Thank you. Thank you for showing me that there is still someone in this world who cares about me.”

I smiled. At the age of 61, I realized that money and youth’s unbridled emotions are not the source of happiness. It’s having a hand to hold, a shoulder to depend on, and someone who will sit by your side all night just to feel your pulse.

Tomorrow will arrive. Who knows how many days I have remaining? But one thing is certain: for the rest of her life, I will make up for what she has lost. I’ll cherish her. I will safeguard her, so she will never have to worry about anything again.

Because this wedding night — after half a century of longing, squandered opportunities, and waiting — is the greatest present life has ever given to me.