My Husband Was Always Way Hotter than Me – Then I Found the Letter He Wrote Before Our Wedding
“No, Mom. I don’t know what you mean.”
I walked into the kitchen before I could hear more.
I was humiliated.
On the drive home, I stared out the window until Luke finally asked what was wrong.
“Maybe they’re right,” I said.
“Who?”
“Your parents.”
“About what?”
I swallowed.
“You could be with anyone.”
Luke immediately pulled the car over.
“What? No,” he said. “I only want to be with you.”
“You don’t have to say that.”
“I’m not saying it because I have to.”
He took my hand.
“Mia, I want you.”
And he kept proving it.
When I lost my job, he stayed.
He never made me feel like a burden while I sent applications and watched my savings disappear.
When I finally found another position, he celebrated as though he had gotten the offer himself.
Then, my sister died.
I fell apart.
There was no prettier way to describe it.
Some mornings, getting dressed felt impossible.
I forgot appointments, ignored phone calls, and sometimes started crying because something small reminded me of her.
Luke practically carried me through it.
He cooked, handled phone calls, drove me places when I could not trust myself to concentrate, and sat beside me during the nights when I couldn’t stop crying.
He never told me to move on.
He never made my grief about him.
One night, months after the funeral, I apologized.
“I’m not much fun anymore.”
Luke looked genuinely confused.
“Why are you apologizing?”
“Because this isn’t what you signed up for.”
He smiled, reached across the couch, and took my hand.
“I signed up for you.”
