Later in life, I agreed to marry a man with disability — there was no love between us

like the grandiose ceremonies I had imagined in my younger years. There was no elaborate white gown, no large crowd, no dazzling display. Instead, it was a small, intimate affair: a handful of family members, a few close friends, and a quiet dinner in a modest space. The simplicity of it somehow made it more real, more genuine. It wasn’t perfect, but continue reading …