Our parents had vacationed together, attended charitable galas together, served on the same boards, exchanged holiday cards with photos taken by professional photographers, and even hosted engagement parties before we were actually engaged.
Looking back, we were two well-dressed puppets tangled in a string of obligation.
I walked down the aisle in a designer gown that my mother had chosen; I didn’t have much of a say.
Everyone said we were a perfect match — two polished young adults raised with every opportunity, gliding into the life our families had mapped out.
And for a while, we believed it.
I gave birth to our daughter, Rowan, the same year we got married, and our son, Caleb, two years later. For years, Mark and I kept up the show. We had holiday cards taken with professional photographers, hosted charity functions and dinner parties, and smiled through social obligations.
