Out of Despair
After 21 years of marriage, he left me for a much younger woman whom he had been secretly seeing. They moved in together. I remained in our apartment, mostly in despair. We both hired lawyers. A year and a half later, he returned. Some friends disapproved of our reconciliation. “Don’t forgive him,” they counseled. But we missed each other and our family. We each learned things about ourselves during the separation (he realized his role in our problems; I learned to let go of the small stuff). An enlightening and happy reunion, but what a miserable way to learn! — Nan Bauer-Maglin
Terrible Pets
My mice, Cucumber and Toothpaste, were terrible pets. The family who relinquished them promised loving, social companions. They were, in fact, standoffish and nippy — but I adored them. When I lowered my face to their level, one might come over and press his little soft nose to mine before scampering off. At the end of their lives, a vet identified them as an inbred strain of lab mice, supposedly notorious for violence. Terrible pets, who were also my couch mates, comedic relief, muses for countless doodles and stories and unexpected teachers of unconditional love. — Elana Berk
An Easy Choice
Stephanie told me she had cancer two hours into our first date. I said, “I won’t treat you any differently because of that.” She was brilliant, kind, amazing in many ways. We became inseparable, falling in love on a road trip from Tyler, Texas, to New Orleans. Shortly afterward, she said, “I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” I said yes. My two and a half years with her were the best of my life. Losing her was the hardest thing I’ve ever experienced. Yet, I’d make the same choice, every time. I love you, Stephanie. — Gary Zeiger
The Last Cookie
In the early days of our marriage, money was scarce but Oreos were on sale. We savored them, a few at a time, until only one remained. I held off eating it, wanting you to enjoy the last of our splurge. The cookie sat on our counter — untouched — for a week until you said, “I was saving it for you.” We snapped the cookie in two, a communion-like ritual in our sunshine-yellow kitchen. Twelve years later, money is no longer tight but the memory of that split Oreo still tastes sweet. — Bethany Hughes
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