Page 154 of Before We Were

As he reads, the room falls impossibly quiet, save for the soft rustle of paper and the distant ticking of the ancient wall clock. I watch his expression shift—eyes crinkling with warmth, lips curving into a bittersweet smile. When he finally looks up, there's a sheen of tears in his eyes that makes my own vision blur.

"Your words, young lady," he begins, his voice thick with emotion, "they're beautiful. You captured her spirit—us—perfectly. It's like you saw her the way I did."

"You really like it?" I ask, my voice small, barely above a whisper. The pressure of telling someone else's love story—especially one as precious as theirs—has been sitting heavy on my shoulders for weeks.

"No, Lenora," he says, shaking his head with a soft laugh that seems to hold decades of memories. "I absolutely love it. You've done us proud."

I exhale, relief washing over me like a warm tide.

"I was so afraid I wouldn't do you or Gracie justice."

He leans forward, resting a hand over mine. His skin is paper-thin but warm, marked with the stories of a life well-lived.

"Justice? Nora, what you've done here is a tribute. A love letter to a life well-lived. You've honored her memory more than I ever could've hoped for."

His praise makes me smile, though I can feel heat rising to my cheeks. I toy with the corner of my sleeve, gathering courage for the question that's been burning in my mind.

"Alfie, how did you know it was supposed to be Gracie?"

He chuckles softly, the kind of laugh that carries cherished memories in its echo. "The moment I saw her through that window, sitting and reading Jane Austen. She had this... quiet brilliance about her, like she belonged to the whole world but chose to sit in mine." His eyes take on a faraway look, seeing something—someone—from long ago.

"There was this sense of rightness, you see. For some, first love is just a spark, a preview of loves to come. But for others, it's the only love—the greatest love. That's why I think heartbreak exists. To remind us of the worth of what we had, even if it was just for a short while."

"Did you ever doubt it?" I ask, leaning forward, hungry for insight into a love so sure, so steadfast.

"Never," he says without hesitation, and the certainty in his voice makes my heart ache. "With the right person, it's simple. Even when it's hard, it feels simple because you never question if it's worth it. It just is. When it came to Grace, the answer was always yes."

"Was it terrifying?" I whisper, thinking of my own heart and its dangerous tendency to leap before looking. "Knowing something so big, so certain?"

"Terrifying?" He tilts his head, considering. "A little, maybe. But love, the raw and honest kind, has a way of silencing fear. No relationship is all sunshine. But two people can share one umbrella and survive the storms together." His eyes meet mine, knowing and gentle. "It's not about being perfect or easy—it's about being certain the person standing by your side is the one you want to be sharing an umbrella with."

I smile, imagining a younger version of Alfie falling for the woman he describes with such tenderness.

"You and Gracie really were soulmates."

He leans back in his chair, his gaze distant but warm.

"What we had was more than love—it was a connection that reached the deepest parts of who we were. We were better together. When you find someone who doesn't try to fix you or complete you but shows you how to be the best version of yourself, that's the person you want by your side through the depths of heaven and earth."

His words settle over me like a warm blanket, their weight and wisdom seeping into the cracks I've been trying to make sense of. I think of Nate, of the way he sees me—really sees me—even when I'm trying to hide.

"That kind of person won't pick up the pieces for you," Alfie continues, his voice gentle but firm. "They'll remind you that you're strong enough, capable enough, to do it on your own. But they'll always be there, steady and unwavering, offering a hand if you need it. They won't let you fall."

The parallels to my own situation hit so close to home that my chest tightens. I swallow hard, trying to keep my voice steady.

"But what if you're scared of losing them?"

Alfie's eyes soften with understanding. "It's the gaps in life that will teach you what's worth fighting for, Nora. The spaces between what we want and what we have—that's where we learn who we are."

I tilt my head, intrigued despite the ache in my chest.

"How do you mean?"

"Well," he says, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his lips, "think of it like this: what's the difference between a space and a room?"

The question catches me off guard. "Is there one?"

"Would you call an empty space a room? Or does a space only become a room when it holds something—when it has purpose?"

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