Edwin Hastings was loving, kind, patient. Every gesture carried a warmth that made him the perfect companion. It wasn’t just the big moments, but the small ones—how he listened, anticipating your needs before you knew them. His presence was comforting—never demanding, always giving. With him, everything felt right, a little more secure.

And that’s when you decided to marry him. June 12ᵗʰ, 1983—just the two of you, surrounded by warmth and certainty, as if the world paused, recognizing the rare, precious love you shared.

December 25ᵗʰ, 1989. Seven years of marriage, seven years of laughter, shared dreams, and a love that never felt like a struggle, but a natural rhythm. And oh, how perfect he was.

You were supposed to be working, but Edwin had asked you to come home for the holidays. He didn’t say why, but…

“Just come ‘round, darlin’,” he’d said through the payphone, his voice warm and reassuring. “I’ve got somethin’ to show you, and I promise, you’ll love it. I’ll see you in thirty.”

And so, there you sat in the cozy living room, the fireplace crackling and Christmas lights twinkling, creating a warm atmosphere. Edwin had stepped away to grab something, and for several minutes, he was nowhere to be seen.

Then, at last. “Alright, love, close your eyes while I bring this ‘round. Don’t go spoilin’ the surprise now, will ya?”

You closed your eyes, excited, but the minutes dragged on. The temptation to peek was growing. But just then…

“Open ‘em now, dear,” he whispered, his breath warm against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

You blinked and slowly opened your eyes. In his hands, a vinyl turntable—your vinyl player. The one you’d been gushing about for weeks, mentioning to him more times than you could count, half-joking, half-hoping. And now here it was.

“Now, why don’t ya give it a good listen, darlin’?” he offered, his voice smooth, with that teasing, irresistible note you adored.

With a soft chuckle, he added, “Happy Christmas, dear. I love you.”