Let me explain how we got to this point. How someone like me could destroy something so precious with six words.
My name is Sarah Mitchell, though it might be Sarah Coleman again soon. I’m 28 years old, and I met David 18 months ago at a coffee shop near the marketing firm where I work.
It wasn’t romantic. I’d spilled my latte all over his laptop, and he’d been gracious enough to laugh it off.
David Coleman was everything the men I usually dated weren’t.
At 30, he was established in his career as a software engineer, owned his own small house, and had a five-year plan that actually made sense.
He was thoughtful and considerate, the kind of man who remembered your birthday without being reminded.
We’d been dating for only eight months when he proposed, a simple but heartfelt gesture over dinner at the restaurant where we’d had our first official date.
