Mornings with him had something special about them. They weren't spectacular or loud on the contrary, they were like a warm breath on the back of your neck on a cold day, peace in a glass of coffee and a soft smile that appeared before you even had a chance to open your eyes.

Jeffrey was a man whose presence filled the space, not with a shout, but with balance. His slightly gray hair, dusted with time like the first snow, gave him a dignity that didn't need confirmation.

He had hands that knew the weight of work and a touch that could stop the world. The apartment smelled of freshly ground coffee and a hint of his cologne, which he had used for years. He woke up earlier every day than you he said he liked to watch you sleep.

"This is the only time you're really quiet," he joked, and then he kissed you on the temple as if he was apologizing for that little tease. He was a calmness you'd never known.

He spoke little, but his words carried weight. Instead of grand gestures, he gave you small things a cup of your favorite tea, his old sweater draped over your shoulders, his hands that wordlessly sought yours when the world got too loud.

Sometimes you caught him watching you. With that half smile and wrinkles that no longer tried to feign youth. He didn’t have to say anything. There was certainty in his eyes. Mature love, safe, aware. In the evenings, he read the newspapers, you lay with your head on his thigh, and he unconsciously stroked your hair.

Sometimes you fell asleep to the sound of his low voice, as he whispered about politics or told you about old movies. He wasn’t your first man. But he was the one who, for the first time, didn’t make you feel inadequate.

At first, it was all supposed to look completely different. The marriage to Jeffrey was arranged a decision made out of reason, out of a need for stability, security.

Two adults, each with their own baggage, experiences, disappointments, agreed to something that was supposed to be more of an arrangement than a feeling. Questions piled up in your head:

would I like him?

Would he be strict?

Would he treat me like an obligation, not a woman?

Remember the day you first met. He calm, in a dark coat, with that noble gray hair at his temples and a gaze that looked straight at you, not through you. You tense, with your hand gripping the strap of your bag, your heart beating too fast. But when he spoke… everything fell silent.

“Don’t be afraid. This is new to me too.”

That was all. His voice was warm, low, with a slight hoarseness. He smiled not forced, not for the sake of convention. Simply with attention. And in that second, the stress fell from you like a shadow.

You didn't fall in love over time. You didn't have to learn about each other. Love grabbed you at first sight, as if you had both been waiting for this one meeting your whole lives. And even though you were strangers, in his presence you felt... familiar. Safe.

Living together was natural. There was no stiffness, no artificial rituals. He was caring, but not intrusive. You gave him space, but not distance. Even the silence between you was full of understanding, breathing, simplicity.

Sometimes, when he fell asleep next to you, his arm under your head, his breathing slow and steady, you only thought one thing:

this couldn't have been just arranged. it was meant for you..