With that, I hung up the phone. After the call, I sat on the sofa in a daze. Ben came and sat next to me.
“Are you still sad?”
I shook my head. “Not sad. Just a little regretful.”
“Regretful about what?”
“Regretful for those five years. Regretful that I once loved someone so unworthy,” I said. “But I don’t regret the experience. It made me grow. It made me stronger.”
Ben took my hand. “You know what I admire most about you, Hannah? It’s your resilience. You’ve been through so much pain, but you haven’t let it break you. Instead, you’ve become more independent, more courageous.”
I looked at him, a wave of warmth spreading through my heart. “Ben, thank you for being by my side through all this. I don’t think I could have gotten through it without you.”
“Silly girl. We’re a couple. That’s what I’m here for,” he said. “And I should be thanking you for giving me the chance to take care of you, to love you.”
That night, we talked for a long time. We talked about the past, the present, and the future. Ben said he wanted to marry me, to give me a home. I told him I was willing, but I needed time. I needed to be sure that he truly loved me, not just pitied me or wanted to save me.
He said he understood and that he would wait, no matter how long it took. In that moment, I finally understood what true love was. It’s not a passionate storm, but a steady, gentle stream. It’s not about possession and control, but about respect and understanding. It’s not about demanding someone to change for you, but about embracing them for who they are.
Six months later, business at the coffee shop was booming. I hired two employees, a recent college graduate named Chloe and a woman in her forties named Maria. Chloe was a quick learner, and Maria was hardworking and kept the shop spotless.
With their help, my life became much easier. I started to have more time for myself. I signed up for a photography class and discovered the joy of capturing life through a lens. I also started writing. I wrote about my experiences and submitted them to several lifestyle magazines.
To my surprise, a few of my articles were published, and I received many letters from readers. Many of them had similar experiences, hurt in their marriages and unsure of what to do. I replied to every letter, encouraging them to be brave, to make their own choices.
I told them that a woman doesn’t need anyone to live a wonderful life. I told them that leaving someone who doesn’t love you isn’t a failure, but a rebirth. I told them that to find true happiness, you must first learn to love and respect yourself.
Last winter, Ben proposed to me. He took me for a walk on the beach. The Chicago winter was cold, the wind biting, but my heart was warm. We walked along the shore, our footprints appearing and disappearing with the waves.
“Hannah,” Ben suddenly stopped and turned to me. “I have something to tell you.”
“What is it?” I asked curiously.
He got down on one knee, pulled a small box from his pocket, and opened it to reveal a diamond ring.
“Hannah Miller, will you marry me?” He asked, looking into my eyes. “I know you’ve been through a painful marriage and I know you’re afraid. But I want you to know that I’m not Mark. I will spend my whole life loving you, protecting you, and making you happy. I will never lie to you, never betray you, never hurt you. I just want to walk through the rest of my life with you.”
I looked at him, tears streaming down my face. “Ben,” I choked.
“If you’re not ready, I can wait,” he said. “No matter how long, I’ll wait.”
I shook my head and smiled through my tears. “No need to wait. I’m ready.”
He stood up excitedly, slipped the ring onto my finger, and pulled me into a tight embrace. The wind howled and the waves crashed against the shore, but we held each other like two trees intertwined, never to be separated again.
Our wedding was simple. We only invited our closest family and friends. No lavish venue, no expensive dress, just the most sincere blessings.
My mom held my hand, her eyes filled with tears. “Hannah, I’m so happy to finally see you happy.”
“I am happy, Mom,” I smiled.
“Ben is a good man. You have to cherish him,” my mom said.
“I will.”
At the wedding, Ben said to me, “Hannah, thank you for marrying me. I promise I will spend my whole life loving you and making you the happiest woman in the world.”
I looked at him, my heart full of love. I knew, this time, I had chosen right.
Married life is peaceful and happy. Ben is thoughtful and caring. He’ll give me a massage when I’m tired, cook dinner when I’m busy, and make me laugh when I’m feeling down. He respects my career and supports my dreams. He never asked me to give up the coffee shop to be a stay-at-home wife. In fact, he often comes to help out. We run the coffee shop together, and we plan our future together.
This spring, I found out I was pregnant. I was both excited and nervous. Excited to finally have a child of my own, and nervous about whether I could be a good mother. Ben was even more excited than I was. He went for walks with me every day, cooked nutritious meals, and bought a stack of parenting books to study.
“Hannah, who do you think the baby will look like?” he’d ask.
“Of course, they’ll look like you,” I’d laugh. “I hope it’s a boy, handsome like you.”
“I hope it’s a girl, beautiful like you,” he’d say.
We dreamed about our future, about our little family. The pregnancy was tough, but I was happy. I knew this child was conceived in love, a symbol of my love with Ben.
During my fifth month of pregnancy, I received a special letter. It was from Mark’s mother. In the letter, she apologized to me. She said she was sorry for not raising her son well, for causing me so much pain. She also said Mark was behaving well in prison and was working hard to reform himself. She said he wanted her to tell me that he sincerely wished me happiness.
Reading the letter, I felt a mix of emotions. I didn’t hate his mother; she was a victim too. She raised a son, never expecting him to go down such a dark path.
I wrote back to her, telling her that I had forgiven everything, that I was very happy now, and that she shouldn’t blame herself. I also told her that everyone makes mistakes, and the important thing is to learn from them. I hoped Mark would reflect on his actions in prison and start a new life when he got out.
After writing that letter, I felt a weight lift from my shoulders. I had finally let go of the past. I had truly forgiven Mark, and I had forgiven myself.
Last fall, our baby was born. A beautiful girl. We named her Clara. I want her to grow up in a world of love and have a peaceful and happy life.
Looking at my daughter in my arms, I thought about the girl I used to be—naive and easily deceived. I had to go through so much pain to become the woman I am today. I will share my experiences with my daughter. I will teach her to protect herself, to love herself, to tell right from wrong. I will let her know that a woman can be gentle, but not weak. Kind, but not foolish. Loving, but she must first love herself.
Now, my life is full and happy. I wake up, take care of my daughter, feed her, change her, play with her. When she’s asleep, I go to the coffee shop to help out. Even with a child, I haven’t given up my career. Ben is incredibly supportive. He always says a woman shouldn’t have to give up her dreams just because she gets married and has children.
In the afternoons, I take Clara to the park. In the evenings, the three of us have dinner together and talk about our day. This quiet life is everything I ever dreamed of.
Last month, the coffee shop hosted a special event. I invited some women who had gone through similar experiences to share their stories. Some were recently divorced and still struggling with the pain. Some were still hesitating, unsure if they should leave their marriages. And some had already moved on and started new lives.
I shared my story. I told them that leaving someone who doesn’t love you isn’t a failure, but a rebirth.
“I know it’s painful. I know you’re lost right now,” I said. “But please believe me, the pain is temporary. If you take that brave step, you’ll find a wonderful world waiting for you.”
“But I’m scared,” a young woman said. “I’m scared of being alone.”
“Being alone is better than being in an unhappy marriage,” I said. “And who says being divorced means being alone? You can have your friends, your career, your own life. And you can find love again, with someone who truly loves you.”
“Are you happy now?” another woman asked.
I looked over at Ben, who was standing by the door, holding our daughter and smiling at me.
“Very happy,” I said with a smile. “Happier than I ever imagined.”
After the event, many people came to thank me. They said my story had given them the courage to face their own lives. They said I had given them hope, made them believe that a woman can live a wonderful life without depending on anyone. I was glad that my experience could help others. Perhaps that is the meaning of pain. It makes us grow, and it enables us to help others grow.
This year marks the fifth anniversary of my divorce. In these five years, I have been through a lot. I’ve grown from a dependent woman into an independent, strong one. I’ve gone from a broken victim to a guide for others. I’ve transformed from a hopeless divorcee into a wife and mother in a happy family.
And it’s all thanks to that one brave decision I made. If I hadn’t decisively transferred the money and filed for divorce after seeing Mark off at the airport, I might still be living a lie, waiting for a man who would never come back.
Last week, I attended a seminar on women’s independence and growth. The speaker was a well-known female author who shared many stories of female empowerment. Listening to her, I felt deeply moved. I raised my hand to speak.
“I’d like to share my story,” I said. “Five years ago, I got divorced. At the time, everyone said I was foolish, impulsive, that I would regret it. But today, five years later, I can proudly say that I have no regrets. Getting divorced was the best decision I ever made.”
The audience applauded.
“Divorce allowed me to find myself again,” I continued. “In my marriage, I lost myself, my dreams, my ability to think independently. I gave everything to my husband, thinking that was love. But I learned that a love where you lose yourself has no foundation. So, I want to tell all the women out there—whether you’re single, in a relationship, or married—remember to never lose yourself. You can love someone, but you must first love yourself. You can give to someone, but never lose your identity. Because only when you are strong and independent can you find true happiness.”
The room erupted in another round of applause. After the seminar, many people came up to me, wanting to hear more of my story. I was happy to share. I hope my experience can help more women learn to love, respect, and protect themselves.
Last night, my daughter said “Mama” for the first time. I cried with joy. I held her close and whispered in my heart, My baby, Mama will always love you and protect you. I will raise you in a world of love, and you will grow up to be an independent, strong, and kind girl.
Ben came over and wrapped his arms around us. “We’ll protect her together.”
I leaned against his shoulder, looking at my daughter in my arms, my heart overflowing with happiness. This is the life I’ve always wanted. A loving husband, a beautiful daughter, my own career, and my own friends. I no longer need to depend on anyone. I can live my life independently and face the world on my own terms.