He said no. He was not unkind about it. He said no and then he said he was sorry and then he went back inside.
I had nowhere to go, and about eleven days of thinking about it, and then I stopped sleeping properly.
But Ambrose had been kind to me from the first week and he had never once been anything else.
Not familiar. Not over-friendly. Kind, in the specific way of somebody who notices that you are having a bad day and then makes it slightly easier without mentioning it.
And one afternoon in that kitchen he said:
I know I’m a great deal older than you and you might laugh in my face. But I’ve fallen in love with you, and I don’t want to spend what I’ve got left pretending otherwise. So I’m asking you to marry me.
And I saw a rope.
What was I supposed to do?
