At 78, I Sold Everything and Bought a One Way Ticket to Reunite with the Love of My Life, but Fate Had Other Plans
At 78, I sold everything I had. My apartment, my old pickup truck, even my collection of vinyl records—the ones I had spent years tracking down. Things no longer mattered. Only she did. Elizabeth’s letter arrived without warning, tucked between bills and advertisements, as if it had no idea how much power it held. “I’ve been thinking…