Tiny Love Stories: ‘We’d Lost the American Dream’

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Modern Love in miniature, featuring reader-submitted stories of no more than 100 words.

When we lost our apartment, my job and your nest egg in the 2008 recession, you suggested we move into your van and drive south to stretch the paycheck you earned online. It was just you, me and our dog. Then I got pregnant in Peru, and we continued on with our baby in tow to Patagonia. We’d lost the American dream, but through life’s twists, we found a different one, on the road. After 14 years, 23 countries and four continents, we ditched the van but are still chasing new horizons, redefining what it means to be “better-off.” — Stevie Trujillo

Our family of three in Valle de los Condores, Chile. Our van is in the background.

“I kissed a girl and now the boys keep asking us to do it again. It’s uncomfortable,” my boarding school roommate told me. “You did it for them?” I asked. “Obviously,” she replied. “We aren’t gay.” Without responding, I left to shower. I found the shower stall furthest from the bathroom entrance, then I stepped past the curtain into my girlfriend’s arms. I wondered if we would ever be together openly and without ridicule. In the meantime, we washed away their mockery. — Molly McGrane

A photo of me in boarding school, before I came out.

My husband’s ragged tennis shoes sit in a closet under my stairs. He wore those splotched sneakers when he ran to the river to rescue a drowning toddler, and when he knelt in dewy grass to propose under a harvest moon. They are the shoes he kicked under the chemotherapy table, and months later stowed under our bed when he could no longer walk. Half-aware that his feet have vanished — along with the rest of his body — I keep the white behemoths to remember his personhood. I slip into his soles whenever I yearn for his soul. — Lina Lambert

My husband’s favorite tennis shoes.

The biological clock sure is something. When I was in my early 30s, I felt like I was in a track meet, racing to find love, marriage, children — in that order. I overlooked what I thought were minor incompatibilities because a three-year relationship couldn’t be for naught; I didn’t have three more to spare! I loved my husband and we made beautiful babies, but our minor incompatibilities became major. Now divorced, I’m no longer in a rush. Love can find me whenever it does. For now, I’m spending my time loving me. — Alicia Edwards

A photo from my solo vacation in Montego Bay, Jamaica, during my co-parenting off week.

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

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