We Married and Then… Distance Hit Us Hard

It was a warm, cozy January day when I stood across from the man I love and promised to be with him forever. The kind of day that feels unreal, where time blurs and the only thing that exists is that quiet, steady moment between two people saying “I do.”

Our hands were clasped. Our hearts are full. And though the world spun outside, in that little space we created together, everything felt still.

We were finally married.

And for a while, it was exactly how I imagined it would be – morning coffee together, laughter in the kitchen, lazy conversations about everything and nothing. We were settling into the sweetness of being newlyweds—two people navigating love and life, now under one name and one roof.

When Forever Takes a Detour

But love, I’ve come to learn, doesn’t always follow the path we plan.

Just a few months into our marriage, the bags were being packed. His uniforms folded. His documents are sorted. The calendar is marked with ports and schedules. The same hands I held on our wedding day were now waving goodbye through airport glass.

He was headed back to sea.

And just like that, we were married but apart.

The Quiet Spaces Between Us

People say the first year of marriage is the most important. They say it’s when you build routines, find rhythm, and truly get to know each other. But ours was split between time zones, blurry video calls, and voice messages sent from somewhere out in the Pacific. I stayed behind to manage our business, something we started dreaming of long before we even planned our wedding. I threw myself into it, building and growing, while carrying the quiet ache of missing him every day.

Some days were harder than others. There were mornings I woke up and instinctively reached out to his side of the bed, only to find it cold. There were nights I sat with dinner for one, replaying his voice in my head just to feel less alone. There’s a certain type of silence that fills a house when the person you love is away, not just quiet, but full of longing.

Love, Across Oceans

And yet, something beautiful was growing in the middle of all that distance.

We found a rhythm, not in routine, but in intention. We learned to communicate not just often, but meaningfully. A grainy photo from his bunk. A snapshot of my workspace. Updates on sea conditions. Updates on business progress. We began to celebrate the ordinary: when he had a calm day, when I signed a new client, when we managed to say “I love you” at the same time despite the signal lag.

The distance didn’t pull us apart; it taught us to reach for each other harder. It reminded us that love isn’t only about presence. It’s about purpose. About knowing that we’re both walking (and sailing) in the same direction, even if we’re taking different paths for now.

Holding On Until We’re Home Again

There’s a strange kind of joy in longing when you know it’s not empty. When the person you’re waiting for is also waiting to come back to you. When every call is a lifeline, and every day brings you closer to reunion.

I often imagine it the moment we see each other again. The suitcase rolling through the arrival gate. His tired smile. My teary laugh. The quiet relief of holding each other without screens or delays or lagging audio.

This Is Just the Beginning

We didn’t expect our first year to look like this. We didn’t plan to spend more days apart than together. But somehow, in this unexpected beginning, we’ve found something deeper than just newlywed bliss. We’ve found commitment, patience, and a kind of love that doesn’t waver with the tides.

And maybe that’s the real beginning of forever.