For sixteen years, my wife and I conquered each of the dragons that threatened our kingdom. Together we battled our foes, and when one of us was tired, the other fought with the strength of two.
And then in a single evening, all we had built came crumbling down.
Guinevere had found her Lancelot.
At 13-years old we became friends. I wrote in my journal after I met her for the first time that she was the one I was going to marry. At sixteen we began dating, and at twenty-two we married. At 22 we married. I loved her, and she loved me.
We were young and foolish, ready to take on the world together. Best friends, husband and wife, partners forever.
Life, of course, had other plans. Our first child was born premature and died shortly after birth. The doctors did what they could, but he couldn’t survive. We buried him in a tiny casket at the family plot.
Our next child was born premature, and thanks to amazing doctors, miraculously survived. She spent three and half months in the NICU.
My wife sacrificed everything, and after four months of bedrest, our third child was born at term.
Through this we battled depression, earned our college degrees, worked long hours to pay for hospital bills. Somehow we survived, and our shared trauma brought us closer together.
Best friends, husband and wife, parents, partners forever.