When life happens

I’ve always imagined a time when happiness would last—when I could finally exhale and just live. But life, it seems, has other plans. Every time I get close to something good, something real, the ground shifts beneath my feet. And nowhere has this been more apparent than in my relationships with men. I have been engaged three times and married once. Each time, I thought, This is it. Each time, I was wrong.

The first man I loved, the one who put a ring on my finger, left me because his mother didn’t approve of me.

“She doesn’t feel you’re the right one,” he had said, his voice devoid of any real emotion, as if he weren’t throwing away years of love. As if it were that simple. I remember staring at him, searching his face for hesitation, for a flicker of regret—anything that would tell me he didn’t want this, that he would fight for us. But there was nothing. Just a quiet certainty that he was done.

The second one was worse. He ran away with my sister. My own sister. I still remember the day I found out. I had gone over to her house, excited to tell her about the venue I had picked for the wedding. I knocked, and when she didn’t answer, I used the spare key she had given me. I wasn’t prepared for what I saw. There they were—my sister and my fiancé—holding each other. The shock of it felt like drowning, like my lungs had forgotten how to take in air. I stood there, waiting for them to tell me it wasn’t what it looked like, that there was some reasonable explanation. But they didn’t. My sister just looked at me, shame flickering in her eyes and said, “I’m sorry.”

That was it. No long explanations. No excuses. Just those two words that did nothing to soften the knife lodged in my heart.

The third man gave no reason at all.
One day, we were talking about our future, making plans, dreaming together. The next, he called and said he couldn’t do it anymore. No fights. No signs. Just silence and a goodbye.

At first, I thought it was a joke, that he was just overwhelmed and needed space. I called. He didn’t answer. I texted. He left me on read. Eventually, I had to accept it—he was gone, just like the others.
It baffled me. I am beautiful, successful, and ready to love. I want a home, a family, a life built on love. But somehow, it always seemed like a dream just out of reach.

Then I met Michael. A mutual friend introduced us at a dinner party, and for once, everything felt easy. There were no mind games, no hesitations. He was different—steady, intentional. He listened when I spoke, made me laugh when I wanted to cry, and most importantly, he chose me.

We married quickly. Some said it was too fast, that I should slow down. But I ignored them. I had found someone who loved me without hesitation, who wanted to build a life with me. I wasn’t going to waste time being afraid.

For the first time in forever, I felt safe but
two months later, he was gone.

A car accident. Just like that. One moment, I was a wife. The next, I was a widow.

I still remember the phone call. I remember how my hands trembled as I picked up, how the voice on the other end told me what had happened. I don’t even remember what I said—I just remember the world tilting, my legs giving way beneath me. The sound that tore from my throat didn’t feel like mine. It was raw, guttural, the sound of something breaking beyond repair.

Grief is a thing I cannot put into words. It is heavy, all-consuming. It swallowed me whole, dragging me into depths I never knew existed. There were days I couldn’t get out of bed, nights when I stared at the ceiling, wondering if I would ever feel whole again. I stopped eating, stopped answering calls, stopped existing in any meaningful way. But somehow, I survived.

Now, there’s someone new. He says he likes me, that he wants to be with me. He is kind, patient, understanding. But I don’t know if he loves me or if he just feels sorry for me. And if I’m being honest, I don’t know if I can do this again. I don’t know if I have the strength to love someone only to lose them.
I want to believe in happiness. I want to believe that love won’t always slip through my fingers. But how do I risk my heart again when all it has ever known is loss?