After her first marriage, she was only 18, and that marriage lasted for 11 years, from age 18 to 29, and gave her two beautiful daughters. She was a single mom and never really planned for it. She wasn’t looking to fall in love again, nor did she have time. Her days were busy; she not only worked full-time but also raised her girls and kept a house in order. Her ex-husband had the girls every other weekend, leaving her with about 4 days a month to herself. Not much time for dating. And money was always tight. They survived on eating spaghetti, eggs, pancakes, and ramen noodles. Life wasn’t easy, but the house was full of love and laughter, and honestly, and that was enough for her.
Then, about two years after her divorce, she met someone. It wasn’t planned. He was at a car shop when she needed work done on her car. They started talking, and talking, and talking. He was kind, and it felt nice to have someone notice her again. Soon, he asked her out to dinner. She began spending some of her rare free days with him. Eventually, he met her daughters and treated them like his own. He took care of them and her. And he wasn’t broke. He had a nice car, took them on little trips, and bought them things she couldn’t afford. She found herself falling for him. Or maybe she was just falling for the relief of not being alone; she had someone to look after her.
She had decided after her first marriage that she didn’t need to be in love again. She liked him, but sparks weren’t flying, and she had no problem with that. Life was… calm. Predictable. And honestly, pretty straightforward. Then, about a year into their relationship, he poured her a glass of wine. At the bottom of the glass was something shiny. Her heart stopped. It was a beautiful diamond ring. She slipped it on and, looking up at him, whispered, “Yes.” They were engaged. She thought about their life, the trips, the nice car, and the fact that he loved all of them. Why not?
She had the fairy tale wedding she never got the first time around. I’m talking a dress with poofy sleeves, a gigantic fountain cake, the whole nine yards: bridesmaids, flower girls, even musicians. Everything looked perfect. But soon, she realized something terrifying: she didn’t love him. She liked him a lot, but love wasn’t there. She thought that liking him was enough and that it would work out, but it wasn’t.
After nine months, when they were having a quiet dinner, she asked him to go for a walk. On a park bench, her voice trembled as she tried to speak, but with a lot of courage, she told him she didn’t really love him. Guilt was eating her as he said nothing. He didn’t even argue, and as they got home, he began packing his things. For her, the most challenging part was telling her parents about this situation. Nine months after having a fancy wedding, she admitted her mistake. The look on their faces just gutted her. She would see that expression again in the years to come, each time hoping that someday, she could finally make it right.
Life moved on. He remarried and had two children. She took a break from men and returned to her simple life of eggs, noodles, and pancakes with her daughters. She dated occasionally, swearing to her best friend that she would never marry again. Years later, but on a girls’ trip to the shore, she realized her story was far from over.
