He didn’t need to kiss me to make me his. I was his the moment he asked me to move here with him and the moment he held my hand at the funeral. I was his when I had nowhere else to go, and he took me into his home. I was his the moment he held me while I cried in the back of that ambulance. He was my strength when I had none. I knew it when he cleared his throat, and I looked up at him with tears in my eyes in that tiny hallway by the restrooms at Bistro’s. And I knew I was his when I fixed his tie at Walmart. That instant, intense feeling was the exact second I knew I was standing in front of
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