It had been love at first sight when Bill and I met almost 16 years ago. I graduated from high school six months early so I could marry him as soon as possible.
We wanted to start our family soon after our wedding, but found out we could never have children. So we threw ourselves into our careers. He farmed the Illinois land that had been in his family for generations, and I worked my way up to head of marketing at a company in our hometown. The job became my top priority, and our marriage started to fall apart. Eventually we separated, then divorced.
With my marriage over, I jumped at a career opportunity that would take me to Atlanta. But the job didn’t turn out as I had expected. Far away from my family, friends and the man I had loved, I sank into a dangerous depression.
Bill kept trying to convince me we could get back together. One night he called while I was sitting on the floor by my bed. I picked a fight. We argued until finally Bill shouted, “What do you want from me?”
“If you really loved me you’d be here!” I screamed. I hurled the phone across the room. I fell on my face and cried, “Lord, I’m miserable!”
Instantly the phone rang. It was Bill. “I’m on my way,” he said.
That was all I needed to know. Months later, Bill and I remarried. In part, thanks to that phone call.
That phone call. As I reached to put the phone back on the nightstand that evening, I froze. When the phone rang the second time… it had been off the hook.
