As the church doors opened, I took a deep breath and started my walk down the aisle. It was July 2019 and the place was packed with family and friends, but the only person I could see was my husband-to-be, Tony, 56.
Tony was my best friend and the love of my life. He was perfect for me – only it had taken me many years, a wedding and a divorce to finally realise it. We’d been here before, the two of us making vows to each other. But this time I was never letting Tony go.
We first met in March 2002 after being introduced by a mutual friend. Tony, then 39, was kind, supportive and a great listener. I was 30 and not long out of a relationship. I had been struggling with a messy divorce, bringing up my two daughters, Allison, then four, and Eve, two months, on my own.
Tony, who’d also divorced, was so friendly. He started phoning me every evening once the girls were in bed, to find out how I was. We’d end up chatting for hours while I did the housework. After a few months, we started meeting up for dinner or drinks whenever the girls were with their grandparents, and I realised how much I liked him.
HOT TUB PROPOSAL
Eventually, we became a couple and I loved how good Tony was with the girls.
Then, a few months into the relationship on a rare night away, just the two of us at a bed and breakfast, Tony turned to me in the hot tub. ‘Will you marry me?’ he asked.
By now my divorce was final, but I was so taken a back by Tony’s question. Things had moved quickly between us, yet there was no doubt that I loved him, so I threw my arms around him. ‘Yes,’ I beamed.
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