No matter how old we get, to me, she’ll always be the same sweet girl I married, who thought about everyone except herself

“Look what I have for my favorite wife.”

The confusion on Lillian’s face hits me like a punch to the gut. Is it so unusual for me to give her a gift? Or is this something even worse…?

It takes only a moment for her to recover.

“I better be your only wife,” she says with a playful smile, a comment so typically Lillian that my breathing eases.

I mock-bow in front of her, the emerald and diamond encrusted pendant in my palm where she can see it, long gold chain dangling behind my hand.

She smiles — that same shy smile all the wrinkles in the world can’t change, the smile that made me want to marry her 50 years ago. And that now makes me regret every single thing I never gave her.

“But… why?” is all she manages to say.

“Because you deserve it. Now that I’m able to give it to you, I want you to have it.”

She lifts the pendant, and with a blush creeping up her cheeks, she shifts her glance from me to the shining stones.

“Why would you think I deserve…” She tilts the pendant, letting it catch the light, a mixture of awe and confusion playing on her face “…this?”

I pull up a chair so I’m sitting beside her and wave my arm, gesturing to the entire dining room in front of us.

“Remember all those walks we used to take on the boulevard? You loved to walk past all those huge, magnificent houses. You’d talk about all the wonderful things we would do with a house like that. You’d imagine the huge dining rooms and dream about all the family we could host. Your eyes would glow as you spoke about all the lonely people who’d find a place to stay with us. Well, your vision allowed me to make it a reality.

“Look at all the people here. They’re here because of you. If it was up to me, I would’ve spent my money on fine wine and cigars.” I wink at her. Nodding my head toward the room, I continue. “Now that we can afford a home like this, would you have it any other way?”

Lillian looks out at the room, as if seeing it for the first time. Finally, she nods. “It’s true, nothing is worth having if you can’t share it,” she says softly.

“That’s what you always said.” I point at the ceiling. “What would be the point of those beautiful chandeliers or,” I point toward the windows, “large picture windows overlooking our gardens or,” I pat the table in front of us, “fine Italian furniture, if we weren’t sharing it with other people so they can also enjoy it?

“When I have so much to give other people, can’t I give my wife a single necklace?” I say, tilting my face to her.

She blushes again as she fingers the necklace, and the years slip away before my eyes. No matter how old we get, to me, she’ll always be the same sweet girl I married, who thought about everyone except herself.