Mark, however, was content to remain seated, offering polite conversation to the dentist and his wife beside him, and trading small nods with an elderly couple who looked as out of place as he felt. He had perfected the art of “pleasantly invisible.” As a high school English teacher, invisibility was usually impossible. Tonight it felt like survival.

Then Lily stiffened.

“Who’s that?”

She nodded toward the entrance.

Mark turned.

A woman had stepped into the ballroom like she belonged to the building’s blueprints.

She was tall, her dark hair swept into an elegant updo, wearing a deep blue dress that shimmered with movement, as if the fabric remembered starlight. She didn’t hurry. She didn’t hesitate. She simply walked, and the room rearranged itself around her.

People approached her with a reverence usually reserved for royalty or very expensive attorneys. Hands extended. Heads bowed slightly. Smiles widened with the subtle panic of people who wanted to be remembered favorably.

“I have no idea,” Mark murmured, though his eyes refused to look away.

The elderly woman at his table leaned in like she was sharing a secret about a neighbor’s scandal. “That’s Elise Montgomery,” she whispered. “CEO of Montgomery Tech. One of the most powerful women in the country. She’s the bride’s godmother.”

Mark nodded politely. The name meant almost nothing to him in the way that constellations mean nothing to someone who spends their nights under fluorescent kitchen lights packing school lunches.

But something about Elise’s presence tugged at him. Not because she was famous, or rich, or surrounded by the social gravitational pull of importance. It was because when she laughed at something someone said, the sound was warm. Real. Unpracticed.

It contradicted the stern image Mark’s brain had tried to assign her. CEOs, in his mind, were made of polished steel and ruthless decisions, not laughter that sounded like it had once belonged to a small-town girl who’d run barefoot across summer lawns.

“You should ask her to dance,” Lily said.

Mark nearly inhaled his water. “What? No. Absolutely not.”

“Why not?” Lily asked, utterly calm. “You’ve been staring at her all night.”

“I have not been.”

He stopped. Because he had.

He’d been watching Elise from afar the way you watched an unfamiliar word on a page, trying to decode it, curious despite yourself.

“She’s way out of my league,” Mark muttered. “Besides, I’m perfectly happy sitting here with you.”

Lily gave him the kind of look that should’ve come with a warning label. “Dad. You haven’t danced with anyone since Mom died. Not even at Uncle Rob’s wedding.”

The words landed like a soft punch.

Mark stared at his hands, the same hands that used to hold Sarah’s waist on Saturday nights in their living room while music played from a cheap speaker. The same hands that had spent the last five years doing practical things: tying shoelaces, grading essays, fixing a leaky faucet, building a life out of responsibility.

“Dating feels like…” Mark searched for the right word.

“Illegal?” Lily offered.

“Foreign,” Mark corrected, though he smiled. “Like trying to speak a language I used to know and forgot.”

Lily stood. “I’m going to get another soda. And when I come back, I expect you to be on that dance floor.”

“Lily—”

But she was already gone, weaving through tables like a determined little ship.

Mark exhaled and leaned back, listening to the band transition into a slower song.

A familiar melody drifted through the ballroom, a song that had once been Sarah’s favorite. The ache returned, sharp and immediate, the way it always did when something good dared to brush against something lost.

He closed his eyes for a moment, letting memory flicker.

Sarah in a blue sundress, laughing in their kitchen.
Sarah singing off-key to the radio.
Sarah whispering in the hospital, “Don’t let her forget me.”

Mark’s throat tightened.

“You look like you could use some company.”

He opened his eyes.

A shadow fell across the table.

Elise Montgomery stood beside him, a slight smile playing on her lips like she’d caught him in a private thought and wasn’t offended by it.

Up close, she was even more striking. Intelligent eyes. High cheekbones. A calm confidence that felt less like intimidation and more like… clarity. Like she was a person who had learned, through hard work and hard lessons, where she belonged in the world.

“I, uh—” Mark stood too quickly, knocking his chair back with a small scrape. “I’m just waiting for my daughter.”

Elise glanced around. “The spirited young lady in the purple dress?”

Mark followed her gaze and spotted Lily by the chocolate fountain, engaged in an intense conversation with the bride’s younger brother, a boy about her age.

Mark’s brain immediately created a list titled New Things To Worry About.

“I’m Elise,” she said, extending her hand.

“Mark Jenkins.” He shook it, trying to ignore the fact that her grip was firm and warm. “I’m the groom’s cousin.”

“Ah.” Elise’s smile widened slightly. “Family. I’m just the bride’s godmother, practically an honorary aunt.”

She paused, studying him with an intensity that made him feel like a book left open.

“You don’t seem to be enjoying yourself much, Mark Jenkins.”

He shrugged, suddenly embarrassed at being so easily read. “Large gatherings aren’t really my thing. I’m more comfortable in a classroom full of teenagers than a room full of adults.”

“You’re a teacher.”

“High school English.”

He waited for the polite nod and the quick exit. That was usually how these conversations went at events like this. People lost interest the moment they realized he wasn’t in finance or law.

But Elise’s eyes lit up.

“English was my favorite subject,” she said. “What text are you teaching this semester?”

Mark blinked. “We’re doing Of Mice and Men right now.”

Elise’s expression shifted with genuine interest. “Do your students still argue about whether George was justified?”

“All the time,” Mark admitted, surprised. “Half of them think he was protecting Lennie. Half think it was cowardice.”

Elise nodded slowly. “That’s the point, isn’t it? You can’t read a good story and stay comfortable.”

Mark felt something in his chest loosen.

Before he knew it, they were talking. Not small talk, not social-event filler, but real conversation, the kind that made time slip sideways. They talked about teaching teenagers to care about books when their phones offered faster dopamine. They talked about the way language shaped power. Elise spoke about her foundation’s work improving STEM education in underprivileged schools.

“But without literacy,” Elise said, leaning slightly closer so he could hear her over the music, “even the best STEM program will fall short. Teachers like you are crucial.”

Mark couldn’t remember the last time someone had said that to him without it being part of a teacher-appreciation speech attached to stale cupcakes.

The band began playing a classic slow dance song, something that had been popular back when Mark and Sarah were in college, back when the future felt like a wide-open highway instead of a maze.

Elise paused mid-sentence, listening. “I love this song,” she said.

Then she fixed her gaze on Mark.

The room did something strange: it blurred at the edges, as if the universe had quietly decided to focus.

Elise extended her hand toward him.

“Dance with me.”

It wasn’t quite a question and not quite a command. It was an invitation with weight.

Mark’s first instinct was to refuse. Not because he didn’t want to. Because wanting had become dangerous. Wanting was the first step toward losing again.

“I haven’t danced in years,” he admitted.

Elise’s smile softened. “Then it’s about time you started again, don’t you think?”

Mark’s excuses rose like panicked birds. I’m rusty. I’m awkward. I’m not—

But Elise’s hand was still there, steady.

Before he could overthink it, he placed his hand in hers.

The moment their skin touched, electricity coursed through Mark’s veins.

He hadn’t felt anything like this since Sarah died.

Elise led him toward the dance floor with quiet certainty. Mark caught sight of Lily across the room, watching them with wide eyes.

Then Lily grinned and gave him a thumbs up like she was approving a business merger.

Mark swallowed hard.

On the dance floor, his anxiety peaked. He was about to make a fool of himself in front of a woman whose name probably made stock markets tremble.

Elise squeezed his hand gently. “Just follow my lead.”

She placed his hand on her waist. Took his other hand in hers.

And somehow, miraculously, his body remembered.

They moved together, stiff at first, then easing into the rhythm. Elise was an excellent dancer, guiding subtly, never making him feel dragged. Mark loosened, then laughed quietly when he almost stepped on her dress.

“It’s like riding a bicycle,” Elise murmured.

“A very wobbly bicycle,” Mark replied, and was startled at how natural it felt to joke again.

Elise tilted her head, studying him. “You’re too hard on yourself.”

Mark frowned slightly. “We just met. How could you know that?”

Elise’s eyes held a knowing glint. “I’m good at reading people. It’s part of my job. And you carry the weight of the world on your shoulders… but you never ask for help.”

The accuracy stole his breath.

The music swayed on, wrapping them in a bubble. Around them, other couples danced, but Mark barely noticed. It felt like the ballroom had become an ocean and they were the only two people in a small boat, somehow steady.

“My wife died five years ago,” Mark heard himself say.

He didn’t know why he shared it. Maybe because Elise’s presence felt oddly safe, like she didn’t flinch from truth.

“Cancer,” he added quietly. “Since then, it’s just been Lily and me.”

Elise’s expression softened. “I’m sorry,” she said, and the words weren’t polished, weren’t rehearsed. “That couldn’t have been easy.”

“It wasn’t,” Mark corrected, his voice rough. “It isn’t.”

They danced through the end of the song, and when it ended, Mark realized he was disappointed.

Elise didn’t let go of his hand. “Thank you,” she said.

“For asking,” Mark replied, then glanced around and noticed several people watching them with curious expressions.

Elise followed his gaze and lifted her chin slightly. “Let them talk,” she said. “I’ve never cared much for other people’s opinions of my personal life.”

The band started up an upbeat number.

Elise raised an eyebrow. “One more?”

Mark surprised himself by nodding. “Why not?”

One dance became three, then four.

They paused for drinks. Lily approached with the confidence of someone who had been waiting all night for her father to stop being a statue. She introduced herself to Elise without hesitation, and Elise spoke to her like Lily mattered, like she wasn’t an accessory to Mark’s life but a bright and central part of it.

“Your father is a wonderful dancer,” Elise told her.

Lily beamed. “I know.”

Mark’s heart squeezed.

By midnight, Mark realized he’d spent almost the entire evening with Elise.

As the reception wound down, Mark walked Lily to the car, thanked relatives, collected leftover favors, and tried to pretend he wasn’t reluctant to leave.

Near the exit, Elise hesitated. Then she reached into her clutch and pulled out a business card.

“My personal number is on the back,” she said, handing it to him. “In case you ever want to continue our discussion about Steinbeck versus Hemingway.”

Mark took it, his fingers brushing hers again.

That electricity returned, quieter now, but persistent.

“I’d like that,” Mark said.

For a moment, they looked at each other. Something unspoken passed between them, heavy with possibility and fear.

“Dad, I’m ready,” Lily called, approaching with sleepy determination.

The moment broke. Elise stepped back.

“Good night, Mark Jenkins,” she said.

“Good night, Elise.”

On the drive home, Lily stared out the window for exactly thirty seconds before turning toward him, eyes bright.

“You like her,” she declared.

“She’s… interesting,” Mark tried.

Lily’s expression made it clear she considered that a weak lie. “Dad. Mom would want you to be happy.”

Mark’s vision blurred for a moment. “Sometimes,” he said quietly, “you take my breath away.”

Lily smirked. “I get it from Mom.”

That night, after tucking Lily into bed, Mark sat on the edge of his own bed with Elise’s business card in his hand. He turned it over, staring at the number written in neat ink like it was a door he wasn’t sure he deserved to open.

He typed a message.

This is Mark from the wedding. I really enjoyed our conversation. Would you be interested in continuing it over coffee sometime?

His finger hovered.

Fear whispered: Don’t risk it. Don’t want it. Wanting breaks things.

But another voice, quieter and more stubborn, said: You’re alive. Act like it.

He pressed send.

His phone buzzed less than a minute later.

I was hoping you’d text. Coffee sounds perfect. Tomorrow afternoon? There’s a little place near the park that makes excellent cappuccinos.

Mark stared at the screen, a smile unfolding like sunlight through clouds.

For the first time in five years, he felt something he thought was gone.

Possibility.

The next morning, there was another text, sent at 5:30 a.m.

Good morning. I have an early meeting, but I wanted to say I’m looking forward to seeing you later. Also, I have a proposition for you that might change everything.

Mark read it three times.

A proposition.

From Elise Montgomery.

His brain immediately tried to invent a reasonable explanation. His heart did not cooperate.

At the coffee shop, Elise arrived exactly on time, dressed simply in dark jeans and a cashmere sweater, her hair down in soft waves. Somehow she looked even more elegant without the armor of formalwear.

“Hello again,” she said, sliding into the seat across from him.

Mark’s throat was dry. “Hello.”

She smiled at his nervousness, not unkindly. “So,” she said, “about that proposition.”

Elise explained that her foundation was launching a literacy initiative in underserved communities. They needed an educational director, someone who understood classrooms from the inside, someone who could build programs that actually worked.

“I think you’d be perfect,” she said.

Mark blinked. “Me? You barely know me.”

“I know enough,” Elise replied, calm as a verdict. “I did some research this morning. Your students’ reading scores have improved remarkably. Your principal speaks highly of your teaching methods. You’ve published thoughtful articles on engaging reluctant readers. You’re exactly who we need.”

Mark’s stomach flipped. “You researched me.”

Elise didn’t apologize. “I make it a point to know who I’m dealing with.”

Then she named the salary.

Mark coughed hard enough to startle a nearby customer.

Elise waited, amused but patient. “It’s a demanding job,” she said when he recovered. “Travel, curriculum development, working with teachers across the country. But there’s flexibility. You could work from home when you’re not on the road. You could build your schedule around Lily.”

Mark’s mind raced.

More money meant fewer nights worrying about the mortgage. It meant a college fund that wasn’t held together by hope and spreadsheets. It meant possibilities for Lily, the kind he wanted for her but didn’t always know how to reach.

But leaving the classroom felt like abandoning something sacred. His students weren’t numbers. They were stories still being written.

“I don’t know what to say,” Mark admitted. “Teaching… it’s a calling.”

Elise reached across the table, her fingers brushing his. “This would still be teaching,” she said softly. “Just on a larger scale. You’d influence literacy nationwide. Think of how many more students you could reach.”

Mark’s chest tightened.

He wanted it. He wanted it so badly it scared him.

But another thought nagged at the back of his mind.

“Why me?” he asked quietly. “There must be hundreds of people who’d jump at this.”

Elise’s gaze held his. “Because when you talked about your students last night, your face lit up,” she said. “Because you see teaching as transforming lives, not delivering content. And because I trust my instincts.”

They talked for hours.

When they finally stepped outside into late afternoon sunlight, Elise said, “I don’t need an answer today. Talk to Lily. Think.”

Mark hesitated, then forced himself to ask the other question, the one that had been circling like a cautious animal.

“And what about… us?” he asked. “Would working for your foundation complicate things?”

Elise’s smile shifted, softer at the edges. “It would add complexity,” she admitted. “But I’m willing to navigate that if you are.”

Then she stepped closer and kissed him.

It was brief. Gentle. And it left Mark standing there like someone had rewritten the laws of gravity.

“Think about the job offer,” Elise murmured. “But also think about this.”

She walked away, leaving Mark on the sidewalk with a life that suddenly felt like it had cracked open to reveal hidden rooms.

At home, Lily was waiting with Mrs. Patel, their neighbor, who greeted Mark with the kind of knowing smile that suggested she had watched enough human drama to qualify as a consultant.

“Dad!” Lily ran to him. “How was your date? Did you kiss her? Are you going to see her again?”

Mark laughed, half mortified. “Slow down.”

Inside, he explained the job, the travel, the salary. Lily listened with a seriousness that made Mark’s heart ache. When he finished, she didn’t ask about money first.

She asked, “Would you be happier?”

Mark stared at her. “I don’t know.”

Lily nodded like she accepted that uncertainty. “But you always say you wish you could do more,” she reminded him. “You say the system doesn’t support kids who need help. This would let you change that, right?”

Mark swallowed.

“And,” Lily added, a little too casually, “you like Elise.”

“The job and Elise are separate,” Mark tried.

Lily rolled her eyes so hard it was practically an Olympic event. “Adults say things are complicated when they’re actually simple. You like her. She likes you. You want to help kids. She’s offering you a way to do that.”

Mark stared at his daughter, stunned by the blunt wisdom.

“What’s complicated?” Lily asked.

Later that night, Mark sat on his back porch staring at the stars. He thought about Sarah, about the way she used to squeeze his hand when he was anxious and say, “You don’t have to be brave forever. Just long enough for the next step.”

“I could use some guidance,” he whispered into the night. “Sar.”

His phone buzzed.

A text from Elise.

Whatever you decide about the job, I’d like to see you again. No pressure. Just dinner, conversation, and maybe another dance.

Mark exhaled, feeling something inside him unclench.

Maybe he didn’t have to solve everything at once.

Maybe he could take one step.

The next weeks were a whirlwind of meetings with the foundation board, visits to headquarters, conversations with educators already involved. Mark kept waiting for someone to look at him like he was an imposter, like a teacher had wandered into a world of power by mistake.

Instead, people listened.

And Elise… Elise showed up.

Not with grand gestures, but with consistent presence. Dinner when she could. Walks in the park. A school play at Jefferson High where she sat in a folding chair like it was a throne and applauded Lily’s classmates like they were Broadway.

Mark fell for her in pieces: the way she remembered the names of his students, the way she asked Lily questions and actually waited for answers, the way she could be commanding in a boardroom and then quietly vulnerable on Mark’s porch, admitting, “I’ve built my life around control. This scares me.”

Six weeks after the wedding, Mark accepted the job.

His principal hugged him with pride and sadness. “Go change the system from the inside out,” she told him. “We need people like you.”

The night before his new position began, Mark invited Elise over for dinner. He was nervous about her seeing his modest house, the worn furniture, the outdated kitchen. It wasn’t a CEO’s world.

But Elise walked through his home with reverence, pausing at the bookshelves, smiling at framed photos of Mark and Lily through the years. She stepped into the backyard and looked at the small garden Mark and Sarah had planted long ago.

“This is a real home,” she said quietly. “You can feel love in these walls.”

In the kitchen, Lily told Elise, “My mom used to make lasagna too. Dad uses her recipe. He says cooking her food makes it feel like she’s still with us.”

Mark froze, expecting the awkward silence that usually followed Sarah’s name.

But Elise simply nodded, eyes warm. “That’s beautiful,” she said. “Food carries memory. I still make my grandmother’s pierogi when I miss her.”

“What’s pierogi?” Lily asked, delighted.

And just like that, the moment stayed gentle instead of heavy.

Later, after Lily went to bed, Mark and Elise sat on the porch swing with a blanket over their laps against the autumn chill.

Elise rested her head against his shoulder. “Thank you for letting me into your world,” she said.

“Thank you for wanting to be part of it,” Mark replied. “I know my life is different.”

Elise lifted her head. “Different doesn’t mean less,” she said. Her voice softened. “These past weeks… they’ve shown me what I didn’t know I was missing. Connection. Family. A home that’s more than a place to sleep between meetings.”

Mark’s throat tightened. He realized he’d spent so long worrying about fitting into her life that he hadn’t fully seen how lonely her life could be.

“I’m falling in love with you,” Mark said, the words escaping before he could second-guess them. “I wasn’t looking for this. I didn’t even know if I could feel this way again.”

Elise’s eyes glistened in the porch light. “I’m falling in love with you too,” she whispered. “And it terrifies me.”

Mark brushed a strand of hair from her face. “Then we’ll be terrified together.”

Their kiss was deeper this time, filled with promise.

But life, Mark learned, never let you keep joy without testing how much you meant it.

Two months into his new role, a gossip column published a photo from the wedding: Elise and Mark on the dance floor, Lily visible in the background with that triumphant thumbs up.

The headline was sharp and playful in the cruel way headlines loved to be:

TECH QUEEN’S MYSTERY MAN: TEACHER OR GOLD DIGGER?

Mark stared at it on his phone, heat rising in his cheeks.

He wasn’t naïve. He knew Elise lived in a world where privacy was a luxury, where people made stories out of shadows.

But seeing himself reduced to a punchline hurt.

Worse, the foundation board called an emergency meeting.

Mark sat at a polished table that could’ve doubled as an aircraft runway, facing people in expensive suits who smiled with professional concern.

One board member, a man with a voice like chilled water, said, “We need to ensure the integrity of the initiative. Perception matters.”

Mark understood what they were saying without them saying it: Are you qualified, or are you her mistake?

Elise sat at the end of the table, calm but tense, her hand clenched under the surface.

Mark felt something old rise in him, something he’d used in classrooms when students tried to disguise cruelty as humor.

He leaned forward. “If you’re worried about perception,” he said evenly, “let’s focus on the truth. My work speaks for itself. The curriculum we’ve developed is already improving literacy outcomes. Teachers in three states have reported measurable gains. If you want to audit my performance, do it. But don’t pretend this is about integrity when it’s about gossip.”

Silence followed.

Elise’s eyes flicked to him, something like pride and relief flashing there.

The man with chilled-water voice hesitated. “We’re not questioning your intentions, Mr. Jenkins.”

“Then stop questioning my right to be here,” Mark replied, calm but firm. “Because I didn’t come here to be Elise’s scandal. I came here to help kids read.”

For a moment, the boardroom felt like his classroom.

And just like in his classroom, truth had weight.

They agreed to move forward, though Mark could feel the lingering doubt like smoke.

That night, Mark sat on his porch, head in his hands, the old grief mixing with new pressure.

Elise arrived quietly, sat beside him, and took his hand.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I brought this into your life.”

Mark shook his head. “You didn’t bring it,” he said. “People did. People always do.”

Elise stared at the dark yard. “I hate that they assume the worst. That they think you’re… using me.”

Mark turned to her. “Then let’s give them something better to assume,” he said. “Let’s live honestly. Let’s be good at what we do. Let’s show up.”

Elise’s eyes shone. “You’re stronger than you think,” she whispered.

Mark swallowed. “No,” he said softly. “I’m just tired of being afraid.”

The foundation held a public gala weeks later, meant to raise money and build support. Cameras. Press. Donors in glittering clothing. A stage with a microphone that looked harmless until you stood in front of it.

Elise was scheduled to speak, but she pulled Mark aside beforehand.

“I want you to speak too,” she said.

Mark stared. “Elise, I’m an English teacher. I talk to teenagers. Not… this.”

Elise cupped his face gently. “That’s exactly why,” she said. “You speak to hearts. They need to remember what this is actually about.”

Mark’s hands trembled when he stepped on stage. The lights were bright. The room was enormous. For a moment he felt like table nineteen again, the outsider.

Then he thought of Lily.

He thought of Sarah’s hospital room. Of the way Sarah had whispered, “Don’t let her forget me.”

Mark took a breath and began.

He didn’t talk about scandal. He didn’t talk about money. He told a story.

He told them about a student who couldn’t read aloud without shaking, who had learned to hide his struggle behind jokes and anger. He told them about the moment that student finished a book, looked up, and said, “I didn’t know my brain could do that.”

He told them literacy wasn’t just a skill. It was a key. A door. A way out.

“And five years ago,” Mark said, voice catching, “my wife died. And I learned that life can split you open. It can make you smaller. Or it can make you… desperate to build something that matters.”

He looked out at the crowd and saw Elise watching him, eyes wet, one hand pressed to her heart.

“I’m not here because I’m lucky,” Mark said. “I’m here because someone believed that a teacher’s work matters. And because every kid deserves the chance to understand their own story.”

When he finished, the applause wasn’t polite. It was real.

The next morning, Mark’s phone contained a message that left him breathless.

It wasn’t from Elise.

It was from one of his former students.

Mr. Jenkins. I saw you on the news. I didn’t know you were doing that literacy thing. I’m in community college now. I’m struggling. But I remembered what you said about books being doors. I’m gonna try again. Thank you.

Mark stared at the screen, eyes burning.

Elise found him in the kitchen, reading the message like it was sacred text.

“What is it?” she asked softly.

Mark handed her the phone.

Elise read it, and her eyes filled. “This,” she whispered. “This is why.”

He nodded. “Yeah,” he said, voice rough. “This is why.”

A year after the wedding where they met, Mark stood in the ballroom of the Grand Meridian again, adjusting his tie for the hundredth time.

Some habits never died.

“Dad,” Lily said, now thirteen, wearing a junior bridesmaid dress and looking startlingly grown up, “stop fidgeting.”

Mark laughed nervously. “I can’t.”

Lily stepped closer and fixed his tie with the same surgeon seriousness she’d had a year ago. “Everything’s perfect,” she said. Then, quieter: “She’s ready.”

The doors opened.

Elise appeared in a simple white gown, elegant without trying. She looked radiant, confident, and for all her power, her gaze went straight to Mark like he was the only person in the room.

Mark’s eyes filled.

As she walked toward him, Mark thought about that first dance, about the way a single invitation had cracked open a life he thought was permanently sealed.

Elise reached him and took his hands.

“Ready?” she whispered.

Mark squeezed her hands gently. “More than ready.”

He glanced toward Lily and saw tears of joy on her cheeks. Beside her sat Mrs. Patel, Mark’s former principal, colleagues from Jefferson High, and new friends from the foundation. All the threads of his life woven into one moment, not perfect, but real.

Mark knew life would still be hard sometimes. Lily would grow, storm, change. Their careers would demand things. Grief would still visit, because love didn’t vanish just because you found new love.

But standing there with Elise, with Lily watching them like a bright blessing, Mark understood something he wished he could’ve told his younger self:

You don’t move on from the people you lose.

You move forward with them inside you, and you let life surprise you anyway.

Sometimes the most beautiful stories begin with a simple invitation to dance.