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Modern Love in miniature, featuring reader-submitted stories of no more than 100 words.
In late 2020, I got very sick. After many months, specialists and dollars, there is still only a guess: long-haul Covid. I couldn’t breathe properly. An alien lived inside me. I was single, scared. What if something happened to me? My friend asked me daily for my “thumb status,” even though he hates texting because he says his thumbs are too big. On rare good days, I sent photos with a thumbs up. More were neutral thumbs. Most were thumbs down. Pain. Fatigue. Fear. Every day he asked. Every day I answered. Every day we sent love through our thumbs. — Emily O. Gravett
We shared an appreciation for music. Casey would post songs on her Instagram story, sometimes with just a link, sometimes while holding the camera, pumping her fist and bobbing her head, or spinning in her living room. Our time together moved between intense conversations — sharing our traumas and fears — and doubled-over laughter. Music was a constant in the background. One day, she posted, “Hope Is a Heartache,” by Léon. I messaged her, “Who ya in ya feels about? This song is heartbreaking.” She replied, “You.” We’re making playlists together now, still sharing our fears and laughter — but also hope. — Karen Chang
One month after we met, Kory injured his back. He was my soul mate, but soon he became my opioid addict, too. Ten years and three children later, I finally asked him to leave. I filed a police report and a protection order and hired a divorce attorney, all in the same week. Then he went to rehab, determined to get sober. I wanted to hate him, but loving him felt braver. When I realized I hated addiction, not him, I said “I do” all over again. On the other side of forgiveness and sobriety, we recovered our love. — Megan Aronson
Aunt Maxine brought matzo and two jars of jelly one Passover when I was sitting in the hospital with my daughter after her cardiac surgery. “I know you said just bring strawberry, but you’re like me — you’ll want options,” she said, setting the bag on the bed. We’d become close when I married into the family less than a decade after she did. In tight families like my husband’s, new people take a long time to stop being new. I hope every young in-law receives a Maxine, someone who welcomes and brings options, anticipating your needs before you do. — Debi Lewis
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