When I was a young teenager, I met my first husband. He was not much older than me. He was a light to my dark thoughts, and feelings. I had so much love for him, and I knew he loved me just as much. He never once took advantage of me. He was the first boyfriend who didn’t sexualize me. There was kissing, and holding of hands, but never any more than that. He refused to take things any further. I signed all of my letters to him, ‘Your Future Wife’. He broke up with me suddenly, and disappeared from my life. I later found out that my parents asked him to. I was young, not allowed to date, and had a lot on my plate. His love for me, and his respect for my parents made it so he agreed.

Many years later, he popped back into my life. He was now a military man who still had so much love for me. When I saw him again, it was like the other half of my soul coming home. Like my heart finally coming back to me, and settling in my chest where it belonged. Ours was a whirlwind romance. Less than three months later, we got married. I needed to be able to go with him, wherever he would get stationed. We were eager to start a life together. He was my world, and I was his. My life was bright, and my heart was full. The future was no longer uncertain and terrifying. Until it became so much worse.

Less than three months later, two men in uniform showed up on our doorstep. My husband had been killed on his way to the base. A drunk driver took my whole life from me. My future, my light, my heart, and my soul. I hated God once again. He gave me my husband, and then He ripped him away from me. Agony, devastation, and anger replaced my happiness. There was nothing I wanted more than to join my husband.

I became a bitter person. Selfish, and angry. Life, for me, was only going to get worse, which I would soon see. Who could have guessed that it could.