It was just a regular evening at Wendy’s. I had stopped in for a quick bite—nothing fancy, just a double cheeseburger, fries, and a moment of peace before heading home.

As I sat there eating, my eyes drifted across the room to an older couple seated nearby. They looked sweet—quietly sharing a meal, sitting close together in that way people do when they’ve sat beside each other for a lifetime. I smiled to myself and went back to my food.

But then, a few bites later, I glanced up again—and paused.

The man was feeding his wife.

Gently, patiently, he lifted small bites of food to her lips. She sat there with a soft, faraway look in her eyes, her hands resting quietly in her lap. She didn’t speak. She didn’t seem fully aware of her surroundings. But he… he was fully there. Every movement spoke of tenderness. Every bite said, I’m still here. I’ve got you.

I couldn’t look away.

My heart tugged in my chest—because that’s the kind of love we all hope for. The kind that doesn’t fade when beauty fades. The kind that endures through illness, memory loss, time. The kind that shows up in parking lots and fast food booths and spoonfuls of chili. I couldn’t help myself. When he got up to throw away their trash, I gently approached.

“Excuse me,” I said, “I hope I’m not intruding, but… how long have you and your wife been married?”

He smiled at me with a gleam in his eye, the kind only decades of love can polish.

“Well,” he said, “how old do you think I am? But don’t guess too low now!”

We both laughed, and after a few tries, he finally said, “I’m 96. She’s 93. We’ve been married almost 75 years—come June, if the good Lord wills it.”

I must have looked stunned, because he chuckled again, glancing over at her.

“She has Alzheimer’s,” he added softly. “But this… this is our date night.”

And there it was. The simplest, most powerful sentence I’d heard in a long time.

This was their date night. Not a five-star restaurant. Not a cruise. Not a ballroom dance.

Just him, her, and Wendy’s.

Getting all the way to the end of the line with the person you started out with… it’s rare. It’s sacred. It’s one of the most glorious, humbling, beautiful things on this earth. To still sit beside each other after 75 years, even when one of you no longer remembers why—to still love like that… that’s the kind of miracle that makes a person believe in love all over again.

So, to the couple at table four:
Thank you for reminding me what love truly looks like.
Not grand gestures.
But showing up. Feeding her. Holding her hand. Staying.
Always staying.

That’s the love I want.
That’s the love I’ll wait for.