Little love stories: “School taught me what marriage didn’t”

Modern love in miniature, with reader-submitted stories no longer than 100 words.

Fortunes Told

My wife died in 1991. Her best friend and I became close through grief. It turned into love. But was it a good match? And so soon, a few months later? After a Chinese dinner, we opened our fortune cookies. Hers: “He likes to flirt, but towards you, his intentions are honorable. » Mine: “You or a close friend will be married within a year. » Married for 32 years now, she has cognitive problems and has been diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease. On a trip before this diagnosis, I stopped at a Thai restaurant alone. My fortune: “Accept the change that is coming. » Love remains.— David B. Schock

ImageMe and my wife, Kathy, on a trip to Greece in 2005.

Built back stronger

I rejected school two-piece from 1909 when I first saw it. . T-shirts were stuffed in the rafters. Rainwater accumulates on linoleum floors. It smelled like cat and mouse urine. But something brought me back there. Recently divorced, I too felt ragged and broken. Maybe that's why I decided to make an offer. Having renounced men, I embarked on property ownership. It hasn't always been easy but, 10 years later, we are both transformed: strong and proud. School taught me what marriage didn’t: trust my instincts and take action in my life. — Sarah Gundle

ImageMe and my daughter, Dahlia, in front of the renovated school in August 2017.

Keeping the faith

It was surprising, given our opposite natures, that relationship advice wasn't requested from my father was always perfect. He was the one who told me to wait, that she would come back. I kept the faith. Six months later, he was right. And now, after two years of dating, she and I are visiting my parents. My mother takes pleasure in pointing out the similarities between my father and my girlfriend – their frugality, their loyalty and their courage – much to my chagrin. I guess faith is a good quality to have in abundance. — Julia Chin

ImageMe (left) and my girlfriend, Chrissy, before heading out to celebrate our second anniversary.

Holding Tradition Close

The drip, the drip -drop from a wet plastic The bag takes me back to the tasks of my childhood. Mom stood over me as I ran the produce bags through the bubbles in the kitchen sink. His rough hands guided mine, teaching me as his mother, a child of Polish-Ukrainian immigrants, had taught him. We lost our language and our last name, but this family tradition remained. I took it with me home to France, England, Australia. When cancer pinned mom to...