During those years, my classmate Van showed me a kindness I didn’t fully understand at the time. She brought me meals, picked up extra supplies for my courses, and even helped cover school expenses when I struggled. Her care came from a genuine place, but I didn’t return the same depth of feeling. Still, because of everything her family did for me, I convinced myself that agreeing to be with her was the responsible thing.
For three years we lived that way, without children and without real connection. She encouraged me more than once to get a health check, but I always brushed it aside. By then, my career was solid, and I was no longer financially tied to her family. That was when I made the decision—without kindness, without real understanding—to end our marriage for what I told myself was a search for “true love.”
Van eventually agreed. She signed the divorce papers, and our paths separated.
Not long after, I began a relationship with a woman I had admired professionally for quite some time. We had been together for over a year when we decided to marry. I didn’t send an invitation to Van, thinking we had both moved on.
