The Broken Dream: The Purple Grapes of Betrayal

We divorced not long after. Everything happened so fast that I barely had time to process what had occurred.

Since I was 20, I had dreamed of a small family. In my imagination, it was a warm home with a loving husband, cozy dinners, and peaceful days. I carried that dream throughout my youth, and at 26, as I put on my wedding dress, I believed I had finally touched happiness.

I met him at a gathering with friends. He was eight years older than me—calm, mature, and possessing an air of experience that the younger men around me lacked. Back then, it wasn’t that I didn’t have options; it was just that standing next to him, everyone else seemed so immature. I loved the feeling of being guided and protected by him, just like the ideal men I used to admire in movies.

I was the one who pursued him. When my friends found out, they looked at me with concern. One friend even pulled me aside and said bluntly: “Have you thought this through? A divorced man isn’t as simple as you think.” I just laughed, thinking they were being too pessimistic. My only thought then was that the past didn’t matter; what mattered was that he chose me in the present.

My parents protested even more fiercely. My father once told me sternly: “You are my daughter; don’t trade your whole life for a few sweet words.” But at that time, I was too confident in my choice. I thought my parents didn’t understand—that they only saw his age and his past, not the affection he had for me. I turned a deaf ear to all advice, even believing I was being “brave” for love.

He told me about his previous marriage. He and his ex-wife were colleagues; she was a talented woman but too consumed by her career. He said he needed a woman who cared for the family, someone who would prioritize her husband over her job. Then, he looked at me and said: “I think you are exactly the person I need.” I believed him—absolutely.

Once, out of curiosity, I secretly watched his ex-wife from a distance. She was beautiful, confident, and had an aura very different from mine. For a moment, a wave of insecurity washed over me, but I quickly brushed it aside. I told myself that I was the one with him now, the one entering a marriage with him.

We married after six months of dating. The wedding was grand, held at a five-star hotel. In my white dress, standing by his side and receiving blessings, I felt like the luckiest woman alive. Although my parents still had lingering doubts, seeing him invest so much in the wedding reassured them somewhat that I would be cherished.

However, that happiness lasted for exactly one day.

Early in the morning on the second day after the wedding, there was a knock at the door. When I opened it and saw his ex-wife standing there, I froze. She was terrifyingly calm, her voice as casual as if she were telling a mundane story: “The other day when he was in my bed, he mentioned he was craving grapes. So, I brought some over today.”

In her hand was a bag of purple grapes. In my head, there was only a void. I didn’t cry, nor did I scream. I just felt nauseous, feeling every ounce of my trust being trampled upon. Just a bunch of grapes, but it was enough for me to realize that the man I had just married had never truly left his past.

Witnessing the scene, he scrambled to explain, saying it was just a mistake while he was drunk. But I didn’t want to hear it anymore. I only said softly: “Perhaps I was wrong from the very beginning when I chose you. Let’s end it here.”

We divorced shortly after. Looking back at that time, I see myself as a blind young girl who believed love could heal everything, forgetting that some people never want to be healed—they just want another place to return to.

Now, I no longer blame him, nor do I blame his ex-wife. The person I blame most is myself—for ignoring every warning sign, for not listening to those who truly cared for me. My girlhood dream has ended, though the price was a broken marriage.

But perhaps, waking up early from a dream is better than living a lifetime in a lie. After everything, I learned that love alone is not enough. What matters more is choosing the right person, and never trading your entire life just to prove you weren’t wrong.