He did not shout and he did not curse because he simply looked defeated in a quiet way that broke something inside me, not in a romantic way but in the instinctive way someone feels when a fragile person is being cornered by people who care more about property than dignity. Without thinking long enough to stop myself I heard my own voice say something that sounded absurd even to me.
“Then marry me,” I said suddenly.
Harold blinked in disbelief and stared at me as if I had lost my mind before asking carefully, “Are you serious or are you joking because that sounds like the craziest idea I have heard in years.”
“Maybe it is crazy,” I answered while shrugging nervously, “but if we are legally family they cannot force you out so easily.”
A week later we stood in a small courthouse in downtown Springfield while a patient judge studied us with the polite confusion of someone who had seen many unusual cases but not many quite like ours. We signed the marriage documents with two curious neighbors acting as witnesses, and afterward we returned to Harold’s kitchen where we shared a simple cake while laughing about how strange life could become in a single week.