I married him on September 1, 1995. I was 23. He was 24. My then official step-daughter was 6. The first 3 years were amazing.

Then it went to shit.

I was miserable for years. Most of my twenties and the first half of my thirties were lonely and frustrating. I raged like a crazed animal. He shut me out and shut down. She was the brightest spot, but in hindsight I see what a failure I was to her.

I did the best I could with what I knew. I’m trying so hard to do better this time around.

Looking at pictures from back then recently felt like a slam to my gut and heart. It was a mistake to marry him. Oh, I know I wouldn’t be or have what I do now if I hadn’t traveled that path. Not at all. The family I cherish now wouldn’t exist.

But still, I did it for the wrong reasons. That’s my standard and often repeated behavior. I wanted her to have a mom. My ego let me believe I was up for it. Wrong.

I wasn’t in love with him, but I did love him. Like most of them, I tried to conform and ignored the red flags.

I thought we would be friends forever. I am such a naive fool. He’s moved on. I missed him for awhile. Then I was really angry for a long time. Now I’m resigned to the sadness of it all.

There were a lot of smiles in those pictures. But there weren’t any pictures from the later years. For good reason.