I vividly recall how the early morning light filtered through the lace curtains of our small apartment in a peaceful area of town, which I had thought would be the ideal location for a forever sort of love. Everything seemed so certain back then. With Adrian Moore, I, Caroline Reeves, had created a straightforward existence that was full of sincere affectionate moments. Routine comforts characterized our days: calm evenings spent sitting together, discussing everything and nothing; walks down sidewalks bordered with trees; and shared cups of tea in the kitchen. Nothing ever seemed wrong in those early days.

Adrian was a good man with steady eyes and a soft smile. Over the course of our five years together, we had developed an indestructible sense of home. Our modest lifestyle, based on respect for one another and little, ordinary joys, was neither affluent nor flashy. Every Sunday morning, we made it a point to prepare breakfast together, and I recall how we used to spend our evenings in the gentle glow of a television screen viewing old movies and laughing over dumb jokes that only we understood.

Leah Carter was the one person who had consistently supported me at every turn. Leah had been more than just a buddy since high school; she was the sister I never had. She had been my confidante from the time she stood by me as maid of honor on my wedding day until the innumerable late-night phone conversations and secrets we exchanged. Even the most difficult times seemed to be bearable because of her unfailing support and contagious humor. I had complete and utter faith in her.
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