I tread carefully across the damp lawn past the poppies, the cornflowers, and the sunflowers. I kneel beside the unicorn I have been awaiting for so, so long. It is a timeless creature. It is afraid of nothing, not even death. But I can see and I know that it’s going to die. It gradually lowers its head until its glittering horn sinks into the thick vegetation.

It’s safe now. I stroke its head, my fingers oddly accustomed to its shape. Its shiny, fearless eyes are so vulnerable and inviting. I want to explore the spaces behind them—those dark, deep, never-ending spaces where no fear or sadness exists.

What does it know? What secrets will it tell me? I have a thousand questions, but only one is truly essential: “What must I know?”

The unicorn stares at me, and there is a change in its shining gaze. Suddenly the world tilts. Henri and I are lying in the grass among the bamboo groves on the roof of the old tulip warehouse. The trapdoor leading to the staircase down into my loft is open.

“Make love to me,” I say.

“Of course,” he replies. “Always.”

He turns onto his side and draws circles with his warm, knowing finger on my naked stomach, small ones radiating out from my belly button at first, then larger ones that run across my stomach, my chest, my mound of Venus, and my thighs. He kneels beside me and caresses me with both hands, and I feel like weeping with relief at how beautiful it is and how long it has been.

He says, “You know that small chapel at Saint Samson? When you make it there, I’ll be there too. I’ll be everywhere, always. I’ll accompany you and I’ll wait for you and for Sam.”

His hands pause.

“Carry on,” I demand.

“Sometimes impossible things happen,” he adds, and his hands also perform impossible things that make me feel so good. “The inexplicable is part and parcel of life.”

“Will you make love to me again?”

He smiles. “Yes.”

Henri covers me with his body, obscuring the sky and the stars with his kisses, and at first we simply lie inside each other, and all boundaries dissolve. The boundaries of my body have dissolved: Henri is in me, and I am in him. He slowly rises to a sitting position, pulling me up with him until I’m in his lap, kneeling at first, but then I push out my legs and interlock my ankles behind his back. He holds me in his embrace.

We gaze at each other, and the wind circles us, the blue moon holds us in a pool of light, and a distant sea rolls across my husband’s eyes. He lays his hand on my heart.

“I’m so sorry, my darling. I’ve always loved you, and I’d have gladly been your husband.”

“You are my husband.”