It’s been six months since my heart broke. Everything seemed perfect; I went back to him like any girl in love would. His family wanted him to meet other girls for marriage. He didn’t think twice about how it would affect me.
One of these girls was a doctor, his family didn’t like her profession because they wanted someone who could work from home. Hoping to speed things up, I met his family. We tried using a mediator to talk to my father, but it didn’t work. I was willing to do whatever was needed, even talking to his sister’s friends.
I was always there for him, supporting his dreams and plans. His family eventually worried about whether I could convince mine. They were impatient, and so was he. My family didn’t approve of our love marriage, and I saw it coming. They preferred arranged marriages, and I was prepared for the worst.
He asked if we should stop communicating. He said his family wanted him to move on. He didn’t even wait for things to settle. At 30, he should be making his own decisions. I kept my pain to myself, crying each day over his betrayal. I learned that happiness depends on you alone, not on someone else.
It’s been four days since I last talked to him. His words still haunt me, but I’m growing stronger each day. Despite everything, I won’t let my suffering break me. This is the end, and I’ll accept it as my fate.
