My name is Margaret Henley. I was sixty-seven, widowed for three years, and living quietly in the house where my husband Robert and I had raised our children. One Sunday in March, my daughter Clara asked me, “Mom, when was the last time you did something just because it made you happy?” I had no answer. I realized I had slowly stopped living beyond my familiar routines.
That evening, I searched online for somewhere I had always wanted to visit. I found photographs of Malta—the blue Mediterranean, ancient streets, and golden stone of Valletta. Without thinking too carefully, I booked a ticket. I made myself one promise: for one week, I would say yes. Yes to unfamiliar food, conversations with strangers, unexpected adventures, and most importantly, yes to life.
In Malta, I met David, a seventy-year-old architect from Edinburgh. I had gotten lost with an upside-down map, and he laughed before offering to help. We had coffee, talked for hours, and discovered that we were both widowed. His wife, Moira, had died four years earlier. He told me she had made him promise to keep traveling after she was gone
