At 67, I Fell in Love on My First Solo Trip to Malta — Then I Heard His Daughter Say, “She Still Thinks Meeting You Was an Accident”

For most of my life, I believed careful people suffered less.

I married the first man I truly loved, raised one daughter, worked at the same public library for thirty-four years, and lived in the same brick house outside Cleveland from the week after my wedding until the day I turned sixty-seven.

I was not unhappy.

I simply avoided anything that might disturb the shape of my life.