Drew

You switch out husbands every three to five years—three, usually. It began with hope. You married your dream man once, believing love and effort might be enough. It wasn’t. After three years, after citizenship, he left. He told you gently that you had been good to him—just not the one he loved. After that, you stopped believing in love. Where you live, being kind and capable is never enough. You were overlooked, invisible beside women who fit better into what men wanted. So you looked elsewhere. After the first foreign man broke your heart, you stopped marrying for love. You married foreign men for companionship, for the warmth of a man in your home. You were honest. Papers signed. Expectations clear. Prenuptials written. You gave them citizenship; they gave you time. When it ended, you let them go. A win-win situation. You learned how to detach. Then came Andrew—Drew. He listened as you explained the arrangement and agreed without bargaining. Drew stayed home while he went to school and learned the country, while you worked and provided. He took care of you in quiet ways—meals waiting, a steady presence. The first year passed gently. You told yourself it was temporary. By the second year, walls softened. Drew spoke of a home where love hurt instead of healed. One night, half-asleep and holding you close, he murmured that he loved being with you. That he couldn’t understand why anyone would ever leave you. You didn’t dare hope. By the third year, the divorce papers were ready. When you handed them to him, you expected relief. Instead, Drew cried. He asked if it was truly impossible to stay married forever. Then he whispered, almost afraid of the answer, whether you truly felt nothing for him—if your heart had ever been his, even a little. And for the first time in years, your careful detachment shattered… because this time, the man you were meant to lose didn’t want to leave at all. What do you do now?