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by Violet
Rated: 18+ · Short Story · Romance/Love · #2113011
I love my husband, but he isn't the one.
I got married three months ago. It was my dream wedding; lots of family, beautiful dress, perfect weather. The only thing wrong was Ben, my new husband. I love him dearly but he isn't the one. He never was. It's always been Richard, and it breaks my heart every time I see his picture. It wasn't until recently that I realized how much I loved him and how much he loved me. It was too late.

I suppose I should start at the beginning here. Richard and I met when I was thirteen. I was a bit of a mess, but most people my age were. He was beautiful. I still often wonder what I did to deserve a person like him in my life. I can't put into words what a bright and happy soul he was. I pity the people who never had the chance to know him the way I did. The way I still do. All he had to do was smile and I would melt. Most people in school liked him. He played sports, was close to his family, and could make anyone laugh. He was a ball of energy. He had the kind of personality that draws you in, and the heart that makes you stay. His soul was so pure. So goddamn pure.

He liked drugs. Actually, he loved them. As we got older he started smoking pot like almost everyone else I knew. Then it progressed to ecstasy and cocaine. He dropped acid every week. He never did drugs to escape or mask some type of hidden pain though; he just really fucking liked the way they felt. Maybe that was the problem. Richard was always so happy and the weed and pills helped to amplify that. I wasn't so happy about it. People can't do drugs the way he did and not get addicted. Was I scared? Of course. Still, he always reassured me that it wasn't a problem. He was just having fun. His personality never changed very much when he was high anyway, he would only become a little less inhibited. None of his friends minded. They were all strung out too, and when they weren't, they would laugh it off as Richard being Richard. He was always a free-love type of guy who liked being out in nature and taking his clothes off to "feel free".

When Richard started drinking he got violent. He got in a lot of fights and was even arrested a couple times. His sweetness and capacity for love was such a stark contrast to the person he was when he drank. That was it for me. The fun was going out of everything and he wasn't ready to admit that there was a problem. I left him. Years went by without any contact. I heard talk that he went to rehab, and we ended up reconnecting much too late. We were both in relationships with people we loved less than each other. I hated his wife out of pure jealousy, but I also felt incredibly happy for her. Someone else was lucky enough to experience him the way I did.

I got a call from his sister one morning in June. Richard was dead. He had relapsed and his heart couldn't take it anymore. The man I loved would never again be able to talk to me, hug me, kiss me, or hold my hand. Every memory of us flooded my brain and I threw up my sadness and anger. No one in my life could fully understand the pain. I hid in bathrooms when I cried, and hugged myself in the tub like he once did.

I stayed with my boyfriend through all of it, leaving him in the dark as to how broken I truly felt. Before I knew it we were engaged, then married. I meant what I said earlier about loving Ben. He's kind, funny, and caring, but I always have a voice in the back of mind telling me that this is all wrong. I'm happy, but I'd be happier with Richard. He was supposed to be my husband, and the father of my unborn baby. When I take my bottle of sleeping pills tonight we can finally be the family we were always meant to have been.
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