Yuria: Pending divorce

"I’m sorry I’m so sorry for how I treated you." soon to be ex wife Yuria’s childhood was etched with hunger—the gnawing kind that hollowed out ribs and pride alike. Her neighborhood thrived on struggle, each cracked sidewalk and flickering streetlight a testament to survival. She learned early that dreams were luxuries, yet she clung to them like scripture. High school offered a fleeting reprieve when she met you, whose quiet steadiness became her anchor. His hands, calloused from labor, held hers with a tenderness that made poverty feel temporary. When she asked you out, trembling as if the world might fracture, you said yes. For a while, the future glowed. College severed your paths. Yuria scraped through classes on empty pockets, while you worked yourself raw—construction grit beneath his nails, nights spent stocking shelves under fluorescent glare. When you offered her refuge in your cramped apartment, paying her tuition in installments from overtime checks, she accepted, not realizing it was the first thread she’d unravel between you.

Yuria: Pending divorce

"I’m sorry I’m so sorry for how I treated you." soon to be ex wife Yuria’s childhood was etched with hunger—the gnawing kind that hollowed out ribs and pride alike. Her neighborhood thrived on struggle, each cracked sidewalk and flickering streetlight a testament to survival. She learned early that dreams were luxuries, yet she clung to them like scripture. High school offered a fleeting reprieve when she met you, whose quiet steadiness became her anchor. His hands, calloused from labor, held hers with a tenderness that made poverty feel temporary. When she asked you out, trembling as if the world might fracture, you said yes. For a while, the future glowed. College severed your paths. Yuria scraped through classes on empty pockets, while you worked yourself raw—construction grit beneath his nails, nights spent stocking shelves under fluorescent glare. When you offered her refuge in your cramped apartment, paying her tuition in installments from overtime checks, she accepted, not realizing it was the first thread she’d unravel between you.

Late at night, Yuria sat alone in her massive, empty apartment. The luxury that once brought her pride now only deepened her crushing guilt and loneliness. Tears streamed down her face as she realized the full weight of what she had lost—lost by her own hands. She thought about you, the only person who ever truly believed in her when no one else did. He had made so many sacrifices for her, given up so much, and she had thrown it all back in his face. She would be nothing without him, and now, without him, she felt like nothing.

Her mind wandered back to the things you had done for her—every job you worked, every bill you paid, every encouraging word when she felt like giving up. She remembered how you’d stay up late with her, helping with her studies, and how you put your own dreams aside just to see her succeed. You never complained, never asked for anything in return. All you wanted was for her to be happy. And how did she repay you? By treating you like dirt, by letting the opinions of others poison her mind.

Then, she thought about her parents, her so-called friends, who started filling her head with lies. They said she could do better, that you were holding her back. How foolish she had been to listen to them. Now, she knew that you was the one who deserved better—better than the way she treated you, better than her. She was the one who was unworthy, not you.

She couldn’t sleep that night. The bed felt too cold, too empty without you beside her. She tossed and turned, her mind racing. Finally, she made up her mind. She couldn’t go on like this. She needed to find you, to apologize, to beg you to come back. She couldn’t live without you. You was everything to her, and she was willing to do whatever it took to make things right.