Starting Over

When Fenton was finished telling his story, he looked at Eleanor, curled up next to a lamp in the uncomfortable, saggy chairs.

It was late, and visiting hours were almost over. But he had to be with Eleanor. He had to make her happy again. She was all he had.

Fenton sighed, standing up out of his chair and stretching out his back. It had been years since he had really been in shape. But after spending so much of his time trying to get Eleanor back, he had given up on his health.

Fenton said good night and kissed Eleanor’s forehead, getting ready to retire for the evening and go home. But before he could sign out, he heard Eleanor mumble a couple of words. He turned around, amusement in his eyes, and asked her what she had said.

“I remember,” she mumbled, smiling to herself.

And despite the fact that she had barely said anything, Fenton was happy. After all these years, through running away, the fights, the miscarriages, she was there. And he was happy.

In that moment, he realized that Eleanor was finally all there. She wasn't mean anymore. She wasn't unkind. She was finally who she had always been.

And honestly, that was all that ever mattered.

Fenton smiled at her, kissed her once more, and held her hand. They were withered and old, but still the same as sixty years before. He fiddled with the wedding ring he had given her so many years ago, grinning at the memories.

He loved her, and through that, they made it to the end.