Wedding Vows for a Second Marriage (2 Minutes)

The vows

Fleur, every Sunday you do the crossword in pen. I asked you once why not pencil, and you said, "Because then I'd never commit to anything." You were stuck on sixty-one across at the time. The clue was "solemn promise," four letters.

We both came to this a little later than most. We both know some things don't erase. You pick up the pen anyway.

Here's what I see. You read the clues out loud when you're stuck, but only the ones you already half know, so I get to feel smart. You leave the hardest corner for me on purpose. You think I don't notice. I do.

So here is what I'm promising. I'll bring the paper in before you wake up, even in February, even in my slippers. I will finally learn the difference between an anagram clue and a hidden word. When you get one wrong in ink, I won't say a thing. I'll just help you make the letters fit.

I'll tell you the truth, including the small ones that would be easier to skip.

I promise to be someone you never have to brace for. You've been brave for long enough. You get to rest here.

And I choose this, the whole grid of it, with my eyes open. I've seen what our Sundays look like. I want all of them.

Solemn promise, four letters. Fleur, I'm writing this one in pen.

Why it works: The crossword in pen does the work of saying they've both lived a while without ever pointing at the past. The clue in the opening comes back as the last line, so the ending feels planned. The promises are small Sunday things, and the one big promise is short and plain.