Through the Storm
When the depression deepens, he retreats. Others won’t notice, but I feel it in our home like a change in pressure before a storm. I help our daughter make him a card, touch his arm — wishing my tenderness could overpower his sadness. I let him nap all of Saturday. I force myself to give him space. I slide a pan of brownies into the oven, and 40 minutes later, he emerges from the bedroom, a hint of life in his eyes. The aroma has broken through, and I like to think he’s smelling not just chocolate but love. — Elissa Jacobs
Souls and Shaved Ice
Despite my limited Mandarin, I was the designated intermediary between the medical team and my extended family when my cousin died. I stood inside the trauma bay, gazing at his swollen face and the machines circulating his blood. My aunt asked urgently: “Is his soul still inside his body? Or did it depart when his heart stopped beating?” As a physician, I was wholly unprepared to answer. I was thinking of his laugh and our shared bowls of cua bing (shaved ice) on sweltering Taipei nights. Now, watching ice melt around tapioca pearls, I know his energy remains, just rearranged. — Kelly Kuo
Stumbling Through New York
Justin was earnest to a degree that I knew would make me either cringe or fall in love with him. Over pizza, he told me that he often gazed at stars and talked about constellations with his father. Wandering through Brooklyn Heights, he hummed a Fleetwood Mac song that neither of us could name. Then, while walking on the outrageously crowded High Line, he smiled at me every time we saw a toddler. In the end, it was both. I fell; he broke my heart. Now, I cringe. — Jaclyn Griffith
Two Sides to a Great Love Story
Over fries, I regaled you with tales of my great love story unfolding, every word out of my mouth “Sean this” and “Sean that.” Even our waitress was bored. Now that Sean is my husband, I see that the other half of our love story is this: that you stuck by me as the mania of new love subsided, that you built a friendship with Sean that is all your own and that you never threw fries at me in the interim. Now, to Sean, I say, “Megan this” and “Megan that.” Megan, Megan, Megan. — Keara Hanlon
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