They retired from that park, hand in hand and beaming. The smiles on their faces couldn't be dulled. Neither had any true comprehension of the decision they had just made. Nor how inexplicably their lives had been altered in that brief, joyous moment. Teresa called her mother. And James texted his frat brothers. And they went swing dancing.
They felt weightless on the floor that night. Flying and twirling through the music, their minds drifted to far off visions of the future. Their future. The honeymoon. Starting a family. A new home. The first day of school. Family vacations. Graduations. Grandchildren. Their golden years together. It was all before them.
They didn't yet know that Teresa was barren. Nor could they foresee James' struggles with alcoholism. Teresa never imagined she would get breast cancer. And James hadn't predicted he'd die alone, his once sharp mind ravaged by Alzheimer's. This too was before them.
At that moment, James just knew that he loved Teresa. And she loved him too. At the end of his life, many years later, he would look back and know; that really was enough.
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