"Simon and I couldn't be more different. When we met, I was 38, he was 54, and his unabashed zest for life broke through my complicated caution. I knew I was in love when, after a lazy summer evening together, I lay on the stone beside a Trafalgar Square fountain and felt joy seep through my skin. I moved in with him, his rural 15th-century cottage becoming our home, workplace (me in medicine, he in shipping), and where I discovered previously unknown contentment."
"After a decade, as others might contemplate retirement, Simon decided to retrain as a boatbuilder. We relocated to a stunning coastal town. He studied and then created a business with fellow graduates. Fitter, stronger, tanned, with resin in his hair and a pencil behind his ear - and already so good at being happy - Simon said he'd never known anything like this new life of ours."
"While loving him, I lived with the constant dread of losing him. This wasn't entirely new. A parental war-zone childhood made me fear for my wonderful, careworn mother. I learned that good goes bad. Night always follows day. When I was 7, I figured the best way to protect against 24-hour cycles of pain was not to trust - if I let my guard down, hell broke loose."
Two people with different ages and temperaments form a relationship that brings joy and deep contentment. The narrator moves into a rural 15th-century cottage and balances medical work with a partner who works in shipping. After a decade the partner retrains as a boatbuilder, they relocate to a coastal town, and he thrives in physical work and new business. Despite shared happiness, the narrator endures persistent dread of losing the partner rooted in a parental war-zone childhood and a mother's death from cancer. The narrator copes by imagining loss, feels ashamed of relentless worry, and relies on a friend to provide perspective and boundaries.
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