Spring Is Never Late

My husband and I had been childhood sweethearts.

He knelt outside my family’s home for three days, begging me to marry him. I was overjoyed.

The day before our wedding, he said he was going north to study abroad and do his small part for this troubled land.

It made no difference to me. I would marry him even if a rooster had to stand in as the groom.

But when he returned home five years later, he brought back a pregnant woman and flung a letter of divorce at me, claiming I was childless.

Without the slightest hesitation, she placed my hand on her belly and leaned close to my ear, her red lips parting softly:

“Your wedding back then was quite the spectacle, wasn’t it, Sister?”