When she was at her most fragile, I was the one beside her, shielding her from the darkness she couldn't bear alone.
She married me because she needed a reason to keep living.
And I happened to be there.
I thought I was her destination. I was only ever her fallback.
Peter was the one she truly belonged with.
From the very beginning to the very end.
Half an hour later, Peter finally came out of the room.
He leaned against the corridor wall, fished a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, and held one out to me.
"She told me," Peter said.
"Said she likes me."
He gave a small laugh, half helpless.
"Says it's been that way for a long time."
I didn't say anything.
"Came out of nowhere." Peter flicked the ash off his cigarette. "We grew up together. I always thought of her as a little sister."
I glanced at his lips.
There was a faint smudge on his upper lip, a shade redder than the surrounding skin, the edges blurred.
Like something had brushed against it.
Kirsten had never kissed me on the mouth.
Fifty years. Not once.
On our wedding night, I leaned in, and she turned her head just slightly.
Said she was a bit of a germaphobe. Wasn't used to it.
I said okay. No rush.
I tried a few more times after that. Every time, she found an excuse to pull away.
A headache. Too tired. Bad breath, she said, embarrassed.
I believed her.
Told myself to be patient. Once she let her guard down, it would happen.
I waited fifty years.
In fifty years of marriage, the most intimate we ever got was her allowing me to kiss her forehead and her cheeks.
Every time, she'd wipe the spot afterward without thinking.
I always assumed it really was the germaphobe thing.
Now I understood. It was never about that.
She'd just been keeping one clean place for the person who was meant to have it.
"What are you thinking?" I asked.
Peter's voice was vague.
"I don't know. She just woke up, still weak. I didn't have the heart to turn her down."
I took a drag and tasted something bitter in the smoke.
"Kirsten's a good girl. If you didn't have the heart to say no, then give it a shot. See where it goes."
Peter looked at me.
"What about you?"
"Don't you still li—"
I shook my head.
"You've got it wrong. There's someone else I'm interested in."
That was a lie.
But the truth wouldn't have served any purpose either.
Fifty years in my last life hadn't been enough to warm her heart. I wasn't going to spend this life trying again.