I married when I was 25. I’m almost 32 now. I look back, seven years and three kids later, and I don’t recognize the man who woke up and drove to the church that morning.
He doesn’t even look like a man from this vantage point, though he probably considered himself one. He was a boy. A selfish, stupid boy who had spent nearly every waking moment of his life up until that day concerned almost exclusively with caring for, and satisfying, himself. He had been the focus of his life. He did not know how to focus on anything else.
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