10/27/2026
She Was the Right One
Yesterday, I met a man named Dan at Malibu Bluffs Park.
We talked for maybe ten minutes. He told me about his wife, Tess, who passed away last year from Parkinson’s after 41 years of marriage.
As he spoke about her, he corrected himself.
She wasn’t just his second wife.
“She was the right one.”
Five words. Forty-one years of love. And a lifetime of memories held inside a simple sentence.
People like Dan have a way of finding their way to me. I don’t know quite how to explain it. Strangers sometimes open up to me in ways that feel unexpected, as though the conversation has found its own path and all I need to do is be present for it.
Throughout our conversation, a beautiful yellow tiger swallowtail butterfly stayed nearby on a bush.
As we were saying goodbye, I told Dan that maybe, just maybe, Tess was that butterfly keeping him company.
He smiled so tenderly.
He’d smiled a couple of times while we talked, but this was different. There was a softness in his face that reached beyond words.
A heart smile.
And I could feel it.
We shook hands and wished each other well. Two strangers who will probably never cross paths again, sharing a few minutes of genuine connection on an ordinary afternoon.
I don’t know if that butterfly was a sign from Tess. But I know what I witnessed in Dan’s face when I offered the possibility.
We don’t always need to know for certain. We can simply leave room for a little wonder, a little tenderness, and the possibility that love finds ways to stay close.
I’ll remember you, Mr. Dan. And I’ll remember that butterfly. 💛
I shared the full story in my latest Substack, She Was the Right One.
