At 61, I married my first love again. On our wedding night, when I gently opened the zipper of her dress, I froze—not out of passion, but in the face of a truth I didn’t expect.
My first wife passed away eight years ago after a long battle with illness. Since then, the house has been painfully quiet. My children are grown, married, and busy with their own families. Once a month, they drop off a little money and my medication before rushing off again. I don’t blame them — life…