I Married a Homeless Man Who Had One Month Left to Live – But the Letter I Received After His Funeral Made the Bl00d Drain from My Face

The homeless man I married always drank his coffee black outside my subway station.

Six days after his  funeral, a letter arrived in his shaky handwriting.

The first sentence was an apology I didn’t understand.

By the end of the page, I was on my way back to the courthouse where we had gotten  married.

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There, a clerk opened an old record book filled with Larry’s name and asked me a question I never expected.

Which Larry had I married?

“Sarah, I need to apologize before I thank you.”

I read the opening line twice.

Larry’s letter had arrived less than a week after his funeral, sealed inside a thick white envelope.

The handwriting was unmistakable.