Tiny Love Stories: ‘I’m Glad I Never Listened to Him’

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Sisters, With Nearly 30 Years Between Us

When Juliette was born, I didn’t want to meet her. A year passed before I fell in love with her piercing brown eyes looking up at me from our grandmother’s carpet. “Your half sister,” people say, until I correct them: “My sister.” Endless games and embraces dissolve our 29-year age difference. “Why leave?” she asks now, at 2, following me into the hallway of our father’s home. When I go, a little part of my heart breaks, until we see each other again and she makes it whole. — Audrey Guttman


We Know Where We Are, and It’s Not Paris

At Paddy’s Clam House in Manhattan, the maître d’ sat us in a cozy, poorly lit corner. Newly engaged, I leaned over and gave Gail a simple peck on the cheek. The maître d’ charged forward and said, in a disapproving tone, “Where do you think you are, Paris?” The question became code for furtive kisses in unanticipated places. Thirty-eight years later, we were at an airport in Paris, standing in line for our connecting flight to Kiev. I turned to Gail and, without a word, we smiled, kissed and exclaimed in unison, “Where do you think you are?” — Jay Chaskes


Questions for My Love

Tell me, my love: Why did I have cancer three times? How did we have two children with autism? Why has nothing turned out as planned? Then again: How are your same 10 jokes still funny? Why does your morning coffee still taste the best? Why, after 22 years together, does my heart still flutter when you walk in the room? How did I get so lucky to have your love? — Elizabeth Uzzo


Never Listen to Your Husband

On our second date, Greg told me that he would rather create the perfect art installation than find the perfect mate. I didn’t listen. A few days before our wedding, I asked, “Do you think we’ll last forever?” He answered, “I think we’ll have at least a good five years.” After the third miscarriage, he worried that we wouldn’t make it through the gut-punch of a fourth. On our daughter’s fifth birthday, he wore a wig and chased eight tiny people around our tiny apartment. I’m glad I never listened to him. — Chloe Smith

See more Tiny Love Stories at nytimes.com/modernlove. Submit yours at nytimes.com/tinylovestories.

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