Falling in love again at 47 and marrying for the second time at 52 was a miracle. And a bit frightening. But, then again, falling in love is always phenomenal and terrifying. We took care of each other ― little inconsequential things: me, placing a water glass on his bedside table; him, refilling my coffee as I wrote in the morning. We touched each other often, like shorthand: I’m here. I’m here . I never doubted we’d spend our later years holding hands, having better sex than ever, kissing our