I Never Believed in Marriage — Until I Met Her

I used to say it often, like a symbol of honour.

“I don’t believe in marriage.”

It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t bitterness. Just a quiet, logical dismissal of a tradition I saw as outdated, flawed, and unnecessary.

Why put a contract on love?

I had watched my parents’ marriage disintegrate slowly, like paper in water. They were good people, both of them, but not good together. The arguments, the silences, the heavy tension in our home — it all left a mark on me. I grew up believing that marriage was a trap people walked into with hopeful eyes and heavy feet.

So I dated, but always at arm’s length. I loved, yes — I’m not ashamed to say that. But every relationship had an invisible ceiling. When things got “serious,” I pulled back. The idea of weddings, vows, or building a life with someone felt like a performance I didn’t want a role in.

Then, I met Sophie.

It wasn’t fireworks. It wasn’t love at first sight. In fact, our first meeting was a little awkward. We were introduced at a friend’s housewarming party. I remember she was wearing a mustard-yellow scarf, sipping a glass of red wine, and laughing at something I couldn’t hear. She had this quiet confidence about her — like she belonged in any room without needing to prove it.

When we talked, she didn’t flirt. She challenged.

She asked what I did, but more than that, why I did it.

She asked what I feared most — and I told her, without thinking:

“Losing myself.”

We didn’t exchange numbers. But I couldn’t stop thinking about her.

Two weeks later, I ran into her at a local bookstore. She was browsing the poetry section — Neruda, I think — and smiled when she saw me.

“You again,” she said.

“Fate?” I joked.

She shrugged. “Or just good timing.”

We went for coffee. Then lunch. Then dinners turned into late-night walks, and those walks turned into sleepovers, and slowly, into something I never thought I’d want: a relationship with roots.

Sophie was different from anyone I’d ever met. She didn’t talk about “forever.” She talked about “today.” She didn’t pressure me into boxes I didn’t believe in. She let things unfold. And in that space, I found myself opening up to her in ways I hadn’t before.

She listened. She challenged. She loved deeply but never demanded.

One night, about a year into our relationship, we were sitting on the floor of her apartment eating takeout. The lights were dim, music was playing softly, and she looked at me with this calm, curious expression.

“Do you still not believe in marriage?” she asked.

I paused.

I wanted to say yes. The old me would’ve said yes, confidently. But in that moment, something shifted.

“It’s not that I don’t believe in us,” I said. “It’s that I’ve seen how messy it can get. How painful.”

She nodded. “I get it. But you know what? Everything meaningful gets messy. Love isn’t about avoiding pain. It’s about choosing the person you want to weather it with.”

That stayed with me.

Over the next few months, something in me softened. I started to imagine a future — not just the fun, spontaneous parts, but the mundane, everyday things. Grocery shopping. Sunday mornings. Late-night arguments and sleepy reconciliations. I pictured Sophie there, through it all.

The man who once scoffed at rings and vows found himself standing in a small jewelry shop one afternoon, palms sweating, heart pounding.

I didn’t plan anything grand. No flash mobs or fireworks. Just a quiet dinner at the restaurant where we had our first official date. I gave her a handwritten letter — because she always loved words more than diamonds — and at the bottom of the page, I wrote:

“If marriage means waking up next to you for the rest of my life, then maybe I believe in it after all.”

She cried. I did too.

And she said yes — with a laugh and a kiss and the same quiet confidence that made me fall for her in the first place.

________________________________________

We’ve been married for three years now.

It’s not perfect. We fight. We grow. We change. But every day, I make a choice — not because of a ring, or a piece of paper, but because I want to.

Sophie taught me that love isn’t about certainty. It’s about trust. Vulnerability. Risk. Marriage isn’t a trap when it’s built on freedom and mutual respect.

I still don’t believe in fairy tales.

But I believe in her.

And maybe, that’s all I ever needed.