I married the man I grew up with in an orphanage — the morning after our wedding, a stranger knocked on the door and said, “There’s something you don’t know about your husband.” I’m 28 (F), and I grew up in an orphanage. By the time I was eight, I had already lived with several foster families, and every single one of them eventually gave up on me. When I was moved to another orphanage, I met Noah. He was nine and used a wheelchair because of a congenital spinal condition. Most of the children avoided him, unsure how to act around him. I didn’t. We became inseparable. Noah was smart, funny, and kind, and over time he became my best friend.
Neither of us was ever adopted, so we grew up side by side, knowing we were all we had. When we left the orphanage as adults, we stayed together. Our friendship gradually became something more, and eventually we fell in love. We enrolled in college, worked part-time, and learned to stretch every dollar. We rented a small apartment, filled it with secondhand furniture, and slowly built our life together from scratch. After college, Noah proposed to me, and a few years later we got married. The wedding was small — just close friends — but to me it was perfect. The next morning, there was a loud knock on the door of our apartment. Noah was still asleep, so I opened it — and froze.
A man I didn’t recognize stood there. He wore a coat and had his hair neatly combed. He cleared his throat and said: “Good afternoon. I know we don’t know each other, but I need to tell you the truth about your husband. I’VE BEEN LOOKING FOR HIM FOR A LONG TIME.” My chest tightened. He handed me an envelope and said: “There’s something you don’t know about your husband. YOU NEED TO READ THE LETTER INSIDE THIS ENVELOPE, AND YOU’LL UNDERSTAND EVERYTHING.”
