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The next morning, I finally reply to Martha:

I’m coming home. Very soon. My mother is in a home, and I have some money. I’m sorry I have put you through so much. Let’s start again. I will see the GP, get referred for meds for my ADHD. I will be a better person for you. I will be everything you need me to be. I love you so much.

And I do, I realize as I press send. I do love her so much.

But the thing about my love in the past is that it’s always been conditional.

It’s flickered on and off, its trajectory always headed like a dying star toward the dead end of the feeling.

But Martha… if there is such a thing as the perfect person for a man like me, then it is her.

Neither too submissive nor too aggressive, not too clever or too stupid, too kind or too cold.

She has no baggage—even her ex-husband is a decent man with whom I have no issues.

And her son—he has a place in my heart, because I know how it feels to not belong to yourself.

A moment later, Martha’s response comes and my heart fills with joy:

We’re all waiting, my love. Let me know when to expect you.