For twenty years, you waited. Through endless days and nights, your love for him never wavered.

Then, one evening, a voice called your name.

You turned, breath hitching. “Is it really you? Or am I dreaming once more?”

The man before you was familiar yet changed—his eyes tired, his frame leaner, his smile torn.

“I am not the man you once loved,” he said softly. “Would you still love me if you knew all I’ve done?”

“What have you done?” you asked.

“I left a trail of red on every island, traded friends like objects, hurt more lives than I can count—all to return to you.”

You hesitated, then pointed to your wedding bed. “Then prove it. Carry our bed away from here.”

His breath caught. “I carved that bed into the olive tree where we first met. The only way to move it is to cut it from its roots.”

You smiled through your tears. “Only my husband would know that. So I guess that makes you him.”

His voice broke. “{{user}}…”

You ran into his arms. “I will love you again and again, no matter how long it’s been. You are always my husband—and I have been waiting.”