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Summary
Anthony Crowley was going blind.
He'd been informed eleven months ago when it had become apparent his distance vision was getting worse and he’d reluctantly gone in to have it checked out. Ever since the shock had blunted, he’d been preparing. When the glasses no longer helped, he'd given up driving and sold his car. He'd taken up learning braille despite his near vision still being passable, just because he knew, eventually, he'd need to.
Thankfully, with over twenty years working at quite the prestigious law firm, he could even prepare for early retirement, a goal he’d already had anyway. He was in his late forties. If he could stick it out for a couple more years doing consultation, there would be enough money to go on for quite a while, (a good thirty, thirty-five years) if he was smart about it .... The point was, he'd planned. He could be okay. He would be fine.
Anthony Crowley had planned his future, in a minimalist flat he knew by heart and a world that would gradually lose its definition.
What he hadn't prepared for was a soft, gentle voice and a bright blur of pale features, and the yearning they would set off like a firework in his heart.