At seventy-six, I rode a bus to try and see my first love after fifty years, yet fate stepped in before I could meet her. P3

The bus trip took close to twelve hours.

Every mile, I imagined seeing her face again.

Would she know me instantly?

Would she still have that same smile?

Would forgiveness be possible?

Midway, our driver slowed and veered into a small stop.

He spoke to us:

"Folks, we'll be here about fifteen minutes."

Most passengers left for refreshments.

I remained, tightly holding her address.

My PHONE RANG then.

The number was unknown.

I almost didn’t pick up.

Some instinct stopped me.

I answered.

NIXT>>>