Westley You Are Late Chapter 19
It wasn’t an aggressive confession.
He said it so lightly, it was almost playful.
And yet, somehow, his words stirred something deep inside me.
I didn’t answer, instinctively looking away.
He didn’t push, simply getting up to pour me a glass of water before changing the subject.
That night, I thought about what he’d said for a long time.
Thatcher was nothing like Westley.
From the moment he entered my life, he had maintained a perfect, respectful distance. I never once felt like he was encroaching.
In the days that followed, our conversations shifted away from my illness and my gratitude. We talked about our childhoods, our school days, and all the strange and ridiculous things we’d encountered in our lives.
The day before my surgery, I made a promise to myself: if I made it through this, I was willing to give both of us a chance.
I was lucky.
The surgery was a success, and my recovery was smooth.
Afterward, Thatcher drove me to nearly every one of my follow-up appointments.
Day by day, that quiet companionship solidified into something more.
By the time I fully realized what was happening, he had already become the person I trusted most in the world.
Getting married felt like the natural next step.
But Thatcher still did it properly, proposing in front of both our parents.
Holding my hand, his voice a little hoarse with nerves, he said, “I’m not very good with words.”
“But I can promise you this—you will never regret the choice you make today.”
After we got our marriage license, work was so demanding that we never found the time to plan the wedding. We had just finally set a date when my ex-boyfriend came back to town.