I have a wife. She is Hermien. She is perfect. I said to her last night ” You are my first love”. I met her online when I was fifty-six. Her profile on the site smacked of honesty and her photo showed me eyes I could love and trust. She and I wrote and then talked by phone and message, Skype and Windows Messenger, for four or five months before we decided that I would emigrate to South Africa and share both her, her house and her two boys’ lives.
I married her in a registry office in May the following year after I had met her online in October. We’ve been together for eight years now and are living in Canada – her two boys are in Toronto where they study.
She has made me very happy. I worry that I have not done enough to make her as happy as she can be. I know I love her because I realized the most horrific feeling when I tried to imagine what my life would be like without her – if she were to die before me. Even now, writing about that, I can feel the tears welling up at the back of my eyes.