It was a sunny day when they met. Her number was 088 and his was 880. They joked about being mirror images of each other and ending up running the marathon together.
It was a sunny day when they had their first date. She packed a picnic basket. He brought wine and drove them to the beach. They ate fruit and cheese and splashed in the waves.
It was a sunny day when he proposed to her. They hiked through the woods and up a gently-sloped craggy hillside. He asked for her hand at the top of a waterfall, and the brilliant diamond glittered on her finger.
It was a sunny day when they got married. They stood under a floral archway in front of two hundred of their family and friends. He never looked more dashing. Her beauty captivated him.
It was a sunny day when their twins were born. They were taking a stroll around the park, and her water broke—two months early. He rushed her to the hospital and she delivered healthy, albeit small, babies.
It was a sunny day when their son and daughter graduated. Both parents beamed with pride—their family was complete. Perfect. They couldn’t be happier. Her heart was full as he held her hand.
It was a sunny day when she buried her husband. A massive heart attack took him from her, but she was the one whose heart broke. Clouds rolled in and covered the sun, shadows stretching across the cemetery and over his casket.
Later that night, the storm came.
This story inspired by the WordPress daily prompt: Sunny.