I fell in love at sixtytwo, and then I overheard his conversation with his sister.
I never imagined that after sixty, I could feel the same flutter as in my twentieshands trembling, cheeks flushing. My friends teased me and nodded, yet I glowed from within. His name was André, a few years older than mea calm, cultured man with a soft voice and kind eyes. We met by chance at the city cultural centre during a chambermusic evening; during the intermission he found himself beside me. We started talking, and it was as if we instantly recognized a shared wavelength.
That evening carried an unusual freshness. A light summer rain pattered against the windows, the scent of wet lime trees filled the air, and puddles glittered on the pavement. I returned home feeling as though a new chapter of my life had just begun.
André and I began seeing each other often. We attended theatre performances, stopped at cafés, and debated books and movies. He recounted his past, I spoke of minemy widowhood, the long silence that teaches patience. Then he suggested a visit to his house by the lake, and I agreed.
The place was magical: endless pine trees, a placid lake, sunlight filtering through the forest canopy. We spent a few wonderful days there. One night, André told me he had to rush back to the city because his sister was in trouble. I was left alone. Later, his phone buzzed on the table, the screen displaying Claire. I didnt pick it up, but a knot of worry formed inside me.
When he returned, I timidly asked who Claire was. André smiled faintly and said she was his sister, ill and in debt, and that he was helping her. Everything sounded sincere. Yet from that moment he began leaving more frequently, as if drawn elsewhere. Calls from Claire became a regular occurrence, and it grew harder to ignore them. I kept quiet, fearing I would shatter the delicate happiness we had built.
One night I woke up to find him gone. Through the ajar door I heard his voice in the kitchen:
Claire, please wait a little longer No, she doesnt know anything. Shes still unaware. Ill sort everything out; it just takes time
I froze. She doesnt know anythingobviously he was speaking about me. What was I missing? What was he hiding? I lay back down, pretended to sleep when he returned, my heart pounding.
In the morning I went out to the garden under the pretense of picking fruit, really needing fresh air and space to think. I called my friend:
Chantal, I dont know what to do. I feel hes keeping something from me. Im scared that its another lie.
Chantal was silent for a moment, then said simply:
Ask him directly. Without the truth you cant live with him. And if the truth hurts, at least youll have been right to uncover it.
When André came back from his trip, I summoned my courage.
André, I heard your conversation, the part where you say I have no idea. Please tell me whats happening.
He turned pale, then exhaled deeply:
Forgive me. I didnt mean to lie. Claire really is my sister. She has racked up huge debts. Ive mortgaged everythingincluding this house. I feared you would leave if you found out. I didnt want to lose you.
Tears welled up. I had imagined something far worse: a double life, betrayal. In truth, he was only trying to save his sister and us.
I wont leave, I said softly. I know all too well what loneliness feels like. If you trust me, well get through this together.
He pulled me into his arms. For the first time in years I felt that opening my heart had been worth the risk. Later we sat down with Claire, I helped her with paperwork, we found a lawyer. We became more than a couplewe became a true family.
I am sixtytwo now, and I know age is no obstacle when love lives inside us. The key is to listen to our hearts and have beside us someone with whom we can face even our deepest fears. With truth and togetherness, happiness is possible.
