We lay flat on our backs that night, over the towel we had just used for our midnight picnic. The cloth was so thin that we could feel the grass beneath us and the dampness that the soil spread along the towel.
It had all been a surprise; I had arrived home from the hospital very late to fins the whole thing waiting for me, candles burning on the ground around the improvised table, the food arranged neatly on it, and her, surrounded by the dim light and more beautiful than ever.
She told me it was to celebrate the fact that we were together. Later, after I had made love to her, she said she loved me. She said she wanted to be with me forever.
How was I supposed to know she was lying?