When we got back to America, the days melted by. Every second that we could spend together we did. We loved each other very much. We would walk down the streets, cuddling each other in our arms. People would look and admire us, but none would ever have the sacred romance we did.
If one of us did something silly, both of us would laugh heartily in harmony. It was as if we were inseperable. When it rained, we didn’t notice and we went outside anyway, smiling and casually strolling. We were in our own world.
Years later we went back to France, that street of which he’d offered me the ring on that corner and got married in the chapel on that street. That was the second happiest day of my life. We had two beautiful children, a boy and a girl. They had romances nearly as great as ours. My husband and I always stayed close and our family never fought.

And to think that this all started in France, a place of miracle romances, and happily ever afters.