Then, Tom walked into the bookstore where I was browsing one Saturday afternoon.
He was tall, kind-eyed, and when he asked if I’d recommend the book I was holding, he actually listened to my answer.
We talked for an hour about our favorite authors.
He asked for my number. I gave it to him.
Our first date turned into a second, then a third.
Tom was patient, funny, and his parents welcomed me into their home like I’d always belonged there.
His mother hugged me the first time we met.
His father asked about my job and actually cared about the answers.
They saw me as a person, not as a problem to solve.
I was finally healing.
