After 65 years of marriage, I opened a locked drawer in my late husband’s office. Inside, I found a stack of letters… and the moment I saw who they were addressed to, I forgot how to breathe.

I am 85 years old, and Martin has been part of my life for as long as I can remember.

When we were children, the church choir was the center of everything. I was always there on Sundays, sitting off to the side in my wheelchair, waiting for my turn to sing. By then, I had grown used to the stares—my injury came from a fall that changed everything.

Then one day, Martin appeared.

He walked straight up to me and said, “Hey. You sing alto, too?”

That simple moment changed my life.

We became friends instantly. He would push my chair without asking, argue with me about music, and sit beside me even when there were plenty of empty seats elsewhere. Somewhere between rehearsals and laughter, friendship turned into something more. Martin never once made me feel different. My wheelchair didn’t bother him at all.

At 20, he proposed: “I don’t want to do life without you.”

Of course, I said yes.

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