After our first date, we became inseparable.
Every chance we had, we spent together.
Sometimes we went out.
Most of the time we simply stayed home.
We watched television.
Shared meals.
Talked for hours.
Ran errands together.
Little by little, our lives began to merge.
After what I considered an honorable amount of time, we decided to live together.
There was no grand announcement.
No dramatic moment.
It simply felt right.
Looking back, I do not remember the exact day we became a couple.
I remember hundreds of small moments instead.
One day she left for work while I stayed behind.
As I looked around, I noticed laundry that needed washing.
There were dishes that needed cleaning.
Dinner was sitting in the refrigerator waiting to be cooked.
So I got to work.
I started the laundry.
Moved it to the dryer.
Cleaned up around the apartment.
Then I cooked dinner and waited for her to come home.
When she walked through the door, she was blown away.
I remember standing there confused.
To me, I had not done anything extraordinary.
I was simply helping.
That was what people who cared about each other did.
At least that was what I believed.
What surprised me was how much it meant to her.
The truth is, I was just as impressed by her.
The more I learned about her work, the more my admiration grew.
She worked in a children's intensive care unit.
Every day she cared for children facing battles most adults would struggle to endure.
She comforted frightened parents during some of the worst moments of their lives.
I have always loved children.
Watching her devote her life to helping them filled me with admiration.
The more I got to know her, the more I realized her kindness was not something she turned on when she arrived at work.
It was simply who she was.
She cared.
Deeply.
About people.
About family.
About children.
About me.
We came from different worlds in some ways.
She healed people.
I fixed things.
By then I had become pretty good at solving problems.
Cars.
Computers.
Networks.
Cameras.
If something was broken, I usually believed I could figure out a way to repair it.
When she lived in a rough neighborhood, I built motion detection systems around her apartment.
I installed cameras.
I even put up a few fake cameras where they could easily be seen.
The neighbors had a reputation for helping themselves to things that did not belong to them.
I was not trying to impress her.
I was trying to protect her.
That was my way of showing I cared.
One of my favorite memories involved World of Warcraft.
By then I was still playing regularly.
Many members of my family were playing too.
Brothers.
Nieces.
People scattered across different states who somehow found each other again in a virtual world.
She was not a gamer.
Not even close.
But she knew gaming was important to me, so she created a character and tried to play with us.
The experiment was not exactly a success.
The game never really captured her interest.
But that was not the point.
The point was that she tried.
She stepped into my world because it mattered to me.
And through that strange little online world, she met my family.
Not sitting around a holiday table.
Not during a family reunion.
But while running around a fantasy world with people who would eventually become her family too.
The older I get, the more I realize that love is often found in those small efforts.
The willingness to step into someone else's world.
To learn what matters to them.
To care because they care.
Neither of us would have appeared in a fashion magazine.
We were older.
Both carrying a few extra pounds.
Both carrying a few scars from life.
But somewhere along the way, I stopped caring about any of that.
When I was younger, I thought attraction began with what my eyes saw.
Life taught me differently.
What attracted me to her was her heart.
Her compassion.
Her patience.
Her strength.
Her character.
To this day, I still believe she is the most amazing woman I have ever met.
Not because she was perfect.
Nobody is.
But because her heart was unlike any I had ever known.
One evening we were lying together talking.
Nothing special.
No holiday.
No anniversary.
No fancy dinner.
Just the two of us sharing the kind of conversation that happens when two people have become completely comfortable with each other.
As I listened to her, I found myself thinking about everything we had built together.
The routines.
The laughter.
The quiet evenings.
The life that was slowly becoming ours.
And suddenly I realized I did not want to imagine a future without her in it.
I sat up and moved to the edge of the bed.
Then I got down on one knee.
My heart was pounding.
Even then, I was not entirely sure what her answer would be.
I looked at her and spoke the truth.
"You're the most amazing woman I have ever met."
"I don't have much."
"But I would like nothing more than for you to be my wife."
For a moment, time seemed to stop.
Then she smiled.
And she said yes.
After all the mistakes, heartbreaks, wrong turns, and years spent searching, I finally felt something I had not felt in a very long time.
Peace.
For the first time in my life, I truly believed I had found home.