The proposal had happened on an ordinary Tuesday evening. No restaurant, no ring box, just the two of them at the kitchen sink after dinner, washing up. Richard had said: “I’d like to do this forever, if you’ll have me.” She had said yes before he finished the sentence. She called Claire the moment he left the room, and Claire had screamed loudly.
The wedding was small—forty guests, a converted Victorian estate on the edge of the countryside. It had been Claire’s idea to leave a seat for Daniel. White ribbon, white roses, his framed photograph leaning against the back of the chair, and a small handwritten card that read: Saving this one, D.