The day she wore a white wedding dress and stepped into her husband’s home, she was only twenty-two, her face still carrying a trace of innocence. He was twenty-four then, confident yet impulsive with youthful energy. They held hands amid the joyful blessings of family and relatives, believing that love could bridge any gap. But none of them understood that marriage requires more than affection—it also needs patience, tolerance, and responsibility. She didn’t think too much, only felt her heart overflowing with joy at becoming a wife.

In the early days, their small house was filled with laughter. Though their meals were simple, they were full of love. She was eager to show off her cooking, while he often helped pick vegetables or wash the dishes, teasing her as he worked. Every evening after work, they would walk down the familiar street together, talking about their future plans. But that initial excitement lasted less than a year. Their different habits began to show, sparking unexpected conflicts.

He loved fun, always going out when friends called, hardly thinking of his young wife waiting at home. She, on the other hand, was stubborn, unwilling to back down—every time she felt dissatisfied, she reacted sharply. Instead of yielding, she chose to argue to defend her pride. Harsh words began to outweigh tender ones, leaving them both weary. Their love wasn’t strong enough to turn minor differences into something they could overcome.

One evening, he brought friends home for dinner, their laughter echoing through the living room. She busied herself cleaning alone, dishes piling high with no one offering to help. By the time the guests left, she was exhausted, her eyes red from stifled anger.
“You only care about having fun with your friends—what am I to you?” she said, her voice trembling.
He frowned and snapped, “You always exaggerate everything. It’s nothing, yet you still nag.”

The exchange quickly turned into a heated argument, the four walls closing in. Furious, she grabbed her coat and stormed out into the night, ignoring his calls after her. Her phone buzzed again and again, but she turned it off, her heart aching yet stubbornly determined to make him taste the fear of loss. She went to her best friend’s house, crying into a pillow before deciding to stay the night. “Let’s see if he really worries about me,” she thought, in youthful defiance.

But that night, something unexpected happened. Her mother-in-law, already gravely ill, suddenly worsened and drew her last breath. The whole family was devastated. Her husband sat silently at the bedside, eyes red with grief. The young man had just lost his greatest source of comfort, his soul hollowed out by despair. In that moment of heartbreak, his wife was absent—without even a final goodbye.

The next morning, she returned home looking tired, still carrying a hint of resentment. But before her was a scene of mourning: a hastily set-up altar, wailing cries, and the thick scent of incense. Her husband sat beside the coffin, his face gaunt, his eyes meeting hers with nothing but emptiness. She froze, clutching her chest with trembling hands as her whole body collapsed.
“Mother… is she really gone?” she cried out, but the only reply was the sobs of relatives.

Guilt pierced her heart like needles. She should have been there. She should have stood by her husband and mother-in-law in those final moments. But her childish stubbornness had cost her the last chance to fulfill her duty as a wife and daughter-in-law. During the funeral days, she could only weep silently, avoiding her husband’s pained gaze. He never blamed her with words, but his silence suffocated her even more.

On the final night of the funeral, they sat facing each other in a dimly lit room. She whispered with a choked voice:
“I’m sorry… I was truly wrong.”
He sighed, eyes distant:
“I was at fault too. But I’ve realized… we’re not mature enough to walk this path together.”

His words cut like a knife, shattering her fragile hope.

After the funeral, they filed for divorce. There was no screaming, no bitterness—just the acknowledgment that their love was not enough. She signed with tears blurring the page, her heart breaking apart. He walked away silently, not once looking back, though his trembling hands betrayed the torment inside. They still loved each other, but their love was powerless against pain and immaturity.

…

She left the house once filled with laughter, carrying only a few clothes and a broken heart. On the first night alone in a rented room, she cried into her pillow until she could barely breathe. Every corner reminded her of the past: her husband’s laughter, his tender gaze on their wedding day. She asked herself why two people who loved so much still ended in ruin. The answer could only be: they were too young, too reckless.

Three years passed, and life was not easy. She buried herself in work as a way to forget the pain, staying busy until late every night. Yet her heart remained empty. On stormy nights, memories of her ex-husband returned. She even missed the arguments, because at least then they were still together. Loneliness made her more mature, but also left deeper scars on her heart.

Friends often urged her to move on, introducing good men to her. She tried dating, but after a few meetings, she realized she wasn’t ready. Every time someone smiled gently at her, she saw her ex-husband’s shadow. New love withered before it could bloom, leaving her with disappointment. Slowly, she grew used to going home alone.

One day, her company joined a major partnership project. When she walked into the meeting room, she froze: he was sitting opposite her. The same face, but now calmer, with a deeper, steadier gaze. He looked at her, momentarily stunned, then gave a faint smile. Her heart raced, memories flooding back like a tidal wave.

Throughout the meeting, she tried to remain composed, though her hands trembled slightly as she held her pen. He spoke clearly about work, his voice deeper now, no longer hot-tempered. After the meeting, he approached her and said softly:
“It’s been a long time… are you doing well?”
She nodded with a faint smile, tears glimmering:
“I’m fine… and you?”
He replied:
“I’m fine too, but… there are things I’ve always wanted to say to you.”

That night, he sent her a message. Simple words: “I don’t know if there’s still a chance, but I still want to know about your life.”

She read it over and over, emotions surging uncontrollably. With trembling hands, she replied: “We can start with a cup of coffee.” That message opened a door she thought had long been closed. Her heart was both afraid and eager.

Their meetings afterward were gentle, free of old arguments. They sat face to face, sharing about work, life, and lessons learned from heartbreak. He admitted:
“Back then, I was too careless. I didn’t know how to cherish what I had. Losing you and losing my mother taught me what responsibility really means.”
Her eyes welled up as she replied:
“And I… I was too stubborn, always wanting to prove I was right. If only I had known how to be patient…”

They fell silent, letting the sorrow of the past settle. Time passed, and both had grown calmer, no longer rushing into love. They spent two years rediscovering each other, learning how to listen and control their egos. Friends were surprised, families skeptical, but soon everyone realized they had truly changed. Their old love rekindled, this time with a gentler, steadier flame.

On their remarriage day, the whole village was astonished. People whispered about how rare it was for a couple to part and reunite, but all eventually smiled and offered blessings. She stood in her wedding gown again, tears falling as she looked at her late mother-in-law’s portrait. In her heart, she whispered: “Mother, forgive me for my youthful mistakes. I promise I will now be a wife who nurtures and makes up for him.” That promise carved itself deep into her heart as a new beginning.

A year later, they welcomed their first child. Their little home was now filled with the cries and laughter of a baby. He completely changed—after work, he rushed home to help care for their child. On sleepless nights, when the baby cried, he carried the infant in his arms, softly humming lullabies so his wife could rest. She looked at him with tears of joy:
“You’ve changed so much…”
He smiled, kissing her forehead:
“Because I don’t want to lose you again.”

Those simple words made her heart tremble. The weariness of life turned sweet with his companionship. She realized that their losses had taught them to treasure the present. Happiness wasn’t far away—it was in every simple moment they shared.

Sometimes, as she held her child and looked out at the sunlit porch, she thought about the road they had traveled. Without the stumbles, they might never have grown. Without the painful divorce, they might never have learned forgiveness. Now, she believed her mother-in-law had guided them all along…