“Check your pocket, baby,” he says, eyes on the silver zipper. With shaking fingers I pull down the zip and put my hand inside. When I feel a little piece of folded paper I can’t keep my tears back any longer. They’re streaming down my face like a waterfall as I choke out, “Please tell me that this isn’t what I think it is.” He waits for me to pull it out and when I open it up I clutch my chest in anguished heartache. It’s a marriage proposal – and it’s handwritten. My eyes trail to the neat black question mark at the end of the last sentence and I can barely see for my tears. I shake my head
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