A knock interrupts the spreading of butter on my gluten-free bread, and I rush to open it. Lately, I haven’t felt the need to use every lock, but I still check the peephole. The sight has me rushing to open the door. A huge bouquet is handed over to me, and I thank the delivery man. Pink roses, and a beautiful card.
“I can’t wait to see you tonight. Happy first Valentines. L x”
I take the card, and place it in the old shoebox that I have been storing all of our firsts in. My favourite is the Christmas card. It had ‘To The One I Love’ on the front, just in case I was in any doubt about Lincoln’s feelings for me. I loathed doing this, but it was inevitable that I would draw comparisons between Tim and Lincoln. The difference was astronomical.
Nineteen years old, I was borrowing my mum’
