When I arrived, she greeted me at the door with a firm handshake and a broken heart.

She was a sad woman, with limp, mousey brown hair and puppy dog eyes. But the worst thing was, she couldn’t have be more than 26 years old.

However, she smiled as I stepped into her home, a well-furnished living space that was homey and inviting.

“I do thank you for your time. It means a lot to me.”

I looked at this woman and couldn’t help feel pity for her. “Of course, it’s no problem.”

She led me into the family room, and I sat down on a squishy teal couch. She stayed standing, obviously nervous. She wrung her pale hands, her nails bitten down to stubs.

“Tell me everything.”

That was all the incentive she needed.

“We’ve been married two years. I think we’ve both enjoyed marriage. It’s been kind to me, at least.” She gave a tight-lipped grin at pleasant memories that I couldn’t see. “We don’t have any children, although we’ve tried.”