My name is Sarah Miller, 40 years old.

My youth gradually faded away in unfinished love affairs – some betrayed me, others saw me as a temporary stop.

Whenever love broke up, my mom looked at me and sighed: “Sarah, maybe it’s time to stop chasing perfection. James next door is a good man. He may walk with a limp, but he has a kind heart.”

Our neighbor James Parker is five years older than me.

He was disabled in his right leg after a car ac:cident at the age of 17.

James lives with his oldmother in a small wooden house in the town of Burlington, Vermont, and works as an electronics and computer repairman.

He is quiet, a bit clumsy, but always smiles gently.

It is rumored that James has liked me for many years, yet he just didn’t dare say it.

I used to think, at 40 years old, what else can I expect?

Maybe, having a gentle person to lean on is better than being lonely.

Therefore, on a rainy and windy autumn afternoon, I nodded in agreement.

No wedding dress, no fancy party – just some close friends and a simple dinner.

I lay still in my new bedroom, listening to the rain falling on the porch roof, my heart filled with confusion.

James limped in, holding a glass of water.

“Here,” he said softly. “Drink this, you must be tired.”

His voice was gentle like the breath of the night wind.

He pulled up the blanket, turned off the light and sat down on the edge of the bed.

The silence was suffocating.

I closed my eyes, my heart pounding, and waited for something between fear and curiosity.

A moment later, he spoke softly, his voice trembling:

“You can sleep, Sarah. I won’t touch you. Not until you’re ready.”

In the darkness, I noticed him lying on his side, his back turned, keeping a great distance – as if he was afraid of hurting me just by touching me.

My heart suddenly softened.

I little expected that the man I only considered “my last choice” would treat me with such respect.

The next morning, I woke up, sunlight streaming through the curtains.

On the table was a breakfast tray: an egg sandwich, a glass of warm milk, and a handwritten note:

“I went to the shop to fix a customer’s TV. Don’t go out if it’s still raining. I’ll be back for lunch.” – James.

I read the note over and over, my eyes stinging.

For the past twenty years, I have cried because men betrayed me.
But that morning, for the first time, I cried… because I was truly loved.

That night, James came home late, smelling of engine oil and welding fumes.

I sat waiting on the sofa, my hands clasped together.

“James,” I called.

“Yes?” he looked up, his eyes confused.

“Come here… sit beside me.”

I looked him straight in the eyes and whispered,

“I don’t want us to be two people sharing a bed. I want us to be husband and wife… for real.”

He stood still, seemingly not believing what he had just heard.

“Sarah… are you sure?”

I nodded, “Yes, I’m sure.”

James immediately reached out and took my hand – a warm, gentle grip, as if the whole world outside had melted away.

His handshake made me believe in love again.

From that day on, I no longer felt lonely.

James was still a limping man, still more silent than talking, but he was the strongest shoulder in my life.

Every morning, I baked bread for him and he made coffee for me.

We never said the word “I love you”, but every little action was filled with love.

Once, as I saw him fixing an old radio for a neighbor, I suddenly realized:

Love doesn’t have to come early, it just has to come to the right person.

And perhaps, in a woman’s life, the most beautiful thing is not marrying someone in her youth, yet finding someone who makes her feel secure – even if it’s late

Ten Years After That Rainy Evening

Time flies like the wind through the maple trees.

It has been ten years since that rainy night when I – Sarah Miller Parker – held the hand of that limping man and started life over.

Now, the small wooden house on the outskirts of Burlington, Vermont, is filled with the golden colors of autumn.

Each morning, James still makes me a cup of warm tea – made his way: not too long boiling water, light cinnamon scent, a thin slice of orange.

He says:

“Autumn tea should taste like home – a little warm, a little bitter, and full of love.”

I smile, seeing his hair which has turned more gray, and his gait which still limps.

Only, I have never seen a “flaw” in those legs – only a man who is always steadfast beside me, even when life is shaky.

For the past ten years, our lives have been simple:

He still works as an electronics repairman, and I run a small pastry shop in the town center.

In the afternoon, we sit on the porch, sipping tea and listening to the maple leaves fall.

But this autumn is different.

James started coughing a lot, and then one day he fainted in the repair shop.

The doctor at the hospital spoke softly but firmly:

“He has a heart problem. He needs surgery soon.”

I was sh0cked.

He held my hand and smiled softly:

“Don’t look so scared, Sarah. I’ve fixed broken things all my life… I’ll fix this one too.”

I broke out tears.

Not because I was afraid of losing him – but because for the first time, I realized how much I loved him.

The surgery lasted 6 hours.

I sat in the cold hallway, praying for him.

When the doctor came out, he smiled softly:

“The surgery was successful. He is a very strong man.”

I bowed my head, tears falling – not because of fear, but because I knew that God had given me more time with him.

As James woke up, he whispered:

“I dreamed that you were making tea. I knew I couldn’t go anywhere because I hadn’t had that cup of tea yet.”

I held his hand, laughing and crying:

“I will make it for you forever, as long as you are here.”

After the surgery, I took time off work to take care of him.

Every morning, I read to him; every afternoon, he sat by the window, watching the maple leaves fall on the porch.

One time, he said:

“Sarah, do you know why I love autumn?”
“Because it is beautiful?” – I replied.
“No. Because it taught me that, even if things fall apart, they can still bloom again next season. Just like us – even though we met late, this love still bloomed in time.”

I put the cup of tea in his hand and whispered:

“And we will have many more autumns, James.”

He smiled.

I knew that smile was the answer to everything.

A year later, James had fully recovered.

Every morning, we pushed the old bicycle out to the street, bought hot bread, and then went back to the porch to drink tea together.

He said, just hearing me make tea, he felt his heart was still alive.

Sometimes, someone asked me:

“Sarah, have you ever wished you had met James sooner?”

I shook my head and smiled:

“No. Because if I had met him sooner, I might not have been hurt enough to understand what true love is.”

That day, it was raining lightly.

I made two cups of tea, as usual.

Yet James was no longer sitting on the wooden chair on the porch.

He was lying in the bedroom, his breathing was getting weaker.

I held his hand, saying through my tears:

“Don’t go, James. I haven’t finished making today’s tea yet.”

He smiled, holding my hand tightly:

“I’ve made it. I smell cinnamon… That’s enough, Sarah.”

Then he gently closed his eyes, the smile still on his lips.

A year after James’s passing, I still lived in that old house.

Every autumn morning, I still made two cups of tea, placing one in front of the empty chair.

I still whispered like before:

“James, the tea is ready. It’s just that this year, the maple leaves fell earlier.”

I know he’s still there – in the wind, in the scent of the tea, in my heartbeat.

There are loves that come late, but last forever – no need for vows, no need for time to prove.

Just one cup of autumn tea is enough to warm a lifetime.