Prompt: scruffy handwriting.

It was endearing, have boys write a love note by hand. It was also exceptionally rare.

"I wish that would happen to me," Dorcas whined, and Emmeline hummed her agreement beside her.

I smiled down at the note, a warm feeling inside my chest. "He's so sweet on you," Mary told me, jealously lacing her tone. "Peter's great, but he has nothing on Frank, I swear to god," she sniffed.

I laughed, delight bubbling up as I stared at the paper I had received in the mail this morning.

I will marry him someday.

…

Frank made sure to write me a note for every occasion, even if it was just a Saturday.

No other girl was treated this way. No other girl got flowers every Monday morning, notes scrawled in scruffy handwriting, or chocolates every holiday. It made me feel special. Warm. Loved.

He doted on me, told me I was his entire world, that there was no one else, could never be anyone else, and that he would die for me, live for me. I believed him; I whispered the same to him under the shadows of a hidden passageway so we wouldn't be caught.

"I love you so much, Alice. I hope you realize how much," he whispered, kissing me chastely, my face cradled between his hands. I leaned into the touch, kissing back with a desperation that would have scared me if I didn't know that Frank would be there to catch me when I fall.

"I love you," I murmured in return. "I love you, I love you, I love you."

He pulled back slightly and I stood on my tiptoes to reach him, suddenly hating the foot of height he had on me. He ran his fingers through my blonde bob cut, smiling. "I have to go, love," he told me quietly. I dropped back onto my feet, disappointed. "Big exam in the morning," he explained, and I nodded. I knew.

He leaned down and captured my mouth in another kiss, and when he released me, I was breathless and star struck. "Goodnight, my dear," I heard, and then he was gone.

…

"Graduation," Frank said seriously.

I hummed in return, not looking at him but at the sunset. "What will I do without you for a year?" he asked rhetorically, for we both knew the answer.

He would wait. He would always wait for me as I would wait for him.

"Get a girlfriend?" I answered jokingly, and he took it as such, laughing.

He shook his head. "You are the only girl in this world that matters," he said. "If I ever lose you, I would surely die, because no one can replace a heart."

He was so poetic. "I love you too," was the only thing I could say in response.

"And I thank the gods for it," Frank said.

Someone like me, being enough for someone like him. It seemed like a wild idea, a fantasy in a daydream that everyone wanted but no one received. He told me it was the opposite and that someone like him didn't deserve someone like me, but I could look in the mirror every morning and never see that. He knew it.

…

This would be the most romantic date we had in a while.

He took me to a park and spread the blanket we brought onto the ground, not allowing me to sit until he arranged the picnic to his definition of perfect. I stood on the sideline, watching him muttering to himself and scowling when the corner of the blanket kept turning up with the wind. I laughed slightly and he turned, his smile blinding. "It's okay, Frank, I promise. This is beautiful," I said, taking it all in.

Candles and a vase full of flowers were seated on the blanket along with my favorite foods. There were lanterns hanging from the tree above us, meaning that this date had been planned, carefully and meticulously. Knowing Frank, it had taken a year.

He finally stood up and grabbed my hand, guiding me onto the blanket. I sat down gracefully, arranging my flower-patterned dress comfortably around my legs as I tucked them under me.

We sat there for over an hour, eating and talking and laughing, my happiness overriding any other worry I might've had. My bills, my brother's recent car accident, collage, my job, all of it faded away into the background as I stared at the boy- young man, now- who I had loved since I was fifteen and he was sixteen.

He handed me a cupcake, his hand shaking very lightly. It didn't escape my notice but I let it be, keeping an eye on him. I tore the cupcake in half like I had always done and gasped. A beautiful diamond ring was wrapped in plastic wrap- much to my amusement- and sitting innocently in the cupcake.

I looked up and Frank was on one knee, staring at me. Tears welled in my eyes and he nodded to the ring. "Will you marry me, Alice, love?"

Overcome, it took me a moment to actually get the words out but I had been nodding since he started speaking. "I, oh, yes, Frank. Yes!"

I cried when he took the ring and unwrapped it, his hands shaking still. He slid it onto my finger and I threw my arms around him, thinking I could never possibly happier.

…

I had been wrong.

I pulled my nightshirt down and shuffled my feet. I heard Frank stir from the bedroom, his footsteps at the door a moment later. "Alice, darling?" Frank asked, knocking.

I stood quickly and opened the door, quickly alarming my husband with my tear-streaked face, ruffled hair, and state of undress. "I'm pregnant," I said, before he could get a sound out. He stared at me.

Anxiety rising, I opened my mouth to say something, anything, when he let out a loud yell and scooped me into his arms, bridal style, like he had the night we were married.

"I don't believe I've told you I love you recently," Frank announced, kissing me quickly.

"You told me last night," I countered, my arms looped around his neck.

He shook his head. "Not nearly recently enough, then," he replied. "I love you."

"I love you too," I replied.

…

"Neville," I said, pulling my son close. "My sweet, sweet baby."

"I'm not a child anymore," he protested, fighting weakly. I knew he appreciated the attention, but his teenage pride made him rather die than admit it.

Frank said, "You're still our baby," much to Neville's disgruntlement.

He huffed. "I'm not," he said, finally relaxing into my hold.

I grinned at Frank over his head and Frank smiled back, mouthing, "I love you."

…

I still got the handwritten notes, which I found all over the house, even though Frank had been dead for years now. I would find them in the oddest of places- the garden shed, my underwear drawer, my old china set, the flowerpot, under loose floorboards when I had Neville replace them for me.

I stand on my porch and fight back tears. The note in my hand had his familiar scruffy handwriting on it- only a few words, but each was more precious than the last.

I don't think I ever told you that your eyes are like the stars, sparkling and so bright and beautiful even the most vicious of men have to stop and stare.

The wind picks up, and my nightgown swirls around me, just like me dresses used to when he and I were together.

It's time.

I make my way to my bedroom, lying on the bed. I face Frank's side of the bed, the notes spread on the sheets. I close my eyes.

"I love you, you know," Frank tells me. "I don't think I've told you recently."