Im 42 and married to the woman who was my best friend from the age of 14. We first met at school. There were no sparks, no romantic feelings. We were just two kids who happened to share a desk and started spending each day in each others company. Right from the start, it was a pure friendship helping with homework, passing time during breaks, talking, sharing secrets. I knew all about her boyfriends, she knew about my girlfriends. There was never any flirting, no kisses, no overstepping of boundaries. We were, simply put, inseparable mates.
During our teenage years and through the start of adulthood, our lives headed in different directions. When I was 19, I left for university in another city; she stayed behind. By 21, I was in my first serious relationship, and at 24, I married someone else. My best friend was there at my wedding, sitting near my family. At the time, she was in a committed relationship as well. We kept in touch calling each other to unload our worries, ask for advice, or just listen.
My first marriage lasted nearly six years. Outwardly, it looked stable, but behind closed doors, there was nothing but silence, arguments, and growing distance. My best friend knew it all. She knew when we were sleeping in separate rooms, when we stopped talking, when I started feeling alone even though I wasnt technically on my own. She never once criticised my wife or turned me against her she just listened. Around the same time, her long-term relationship ended and she spent a few years by herself, focused on her career.
The divorce happened when I turned 32. It was drawn out legally and emotionally draining. I moved into a flat on my own and started from scratch. During that period, my best friend was the person who stood by me most: helping me search for a place, going with me to pick out furniture, popping round for dinner just so I wouldnt be left by myself. We still called ourselves friends, but little things started to change quiet moments without awkwardness, glances that lingered, jealousy no one wanted to acknowledge.
When I was 33, one evening after dinner at my place, I realised I didnt want her to leave. Nothing physical happened there was no kiss but that night I hardly slept because I had to face something I didnt want to admit: she was no longer just a friend. A few days later, she said the same thing to me even gave me examples: how she felt upset when I went out with another woman, how it irked her to hear about it from others, how she began to wonder when her feelings for me had changed.
It took us nearly a year to accept what was going on. All that time, we dated other people, trying to convince ourselves that this, whatever it was, wasnt love. But it didnt work. We always found our way back to each other, talking, confiding in each other, comparing every new relationship to what we already shared. At 35, we decided to give it a go. At first, it was awkward going from a twenty-year friendship to something more, with fear, with guilt, and with the worry that if it didnt work, wed ruin something irreplaceable.
We got married two years later I was 37, she was 36. We didnt have a big wedding. It was a thoughtful, mature decision, made after countless conversations. People said it had been obvious all along, that we were always meant to end up together. But the truth is, we never saw it that way ourselves. For over two decades, wed just been friends, never crossing a line, never even thinking about it. The love wasnt there from the start it grew after we had both lived, suffered, and lost.
Today, weve been married for years. I wont pretend its perfect, but its solid. We know each other inside out: how we deal with stress, how we argue, how we retreat into silence and how we say sorry. Sometimes I think if I hadnt gone through a divorce, Id never have realised what was right in front of me. I didnt marry my best friend out of convenience. I married her because, after everything, she was the only person I have never had to pretend to be someone else for.
