At seventeen, I was in love with Mark, convinced we’d map our future together. But a week before Christmas, everything changed. Mark had an accident, leaving him paralyzed from the waist down. That night, my parents made it clear: if I stayed with him, I’d be on my own. No college fund, no support. I packed a bag and moved in with his parents.
The years that followed were hard. I worked in coffee shops, studied, and cared for Mark. We built a life, had a son, and I never regretted my choice, even though my parents cut me off.
Fifteen years later, my mother showed up at my door, holding papers that shattered everything I believed. The accident wasn’t the result of a snowy road—it was Mark’s betrayal. He’d been driving home from a secret affair with my best friend, Jenna. He had lied to me, manipulated me into believing he was an innocent victim.
The weight of those lost years hit me all at once. “I need you to leave,” I said. I packed up and took my son to my parents. Mark’s apologies meant nothing.
Now, I’m rebuilding my life. I regret the love I gave to a man who wasn’t truthful, but I’ve learned the importance of choosing the truth—no matter the cost.