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There are young girls, barely over the age of 12, who are forced into marriages, and there are women who are attacked with acid or burned to death because their dowries aren’t impressive enough.
There are survivors of domestic violence who cannot leave their homes because marital rape is legal and divorce is a social stigma.
I don’t know how to define what my parents share, but I can definitively say that it adds something incomparably special to their lives. Maybe my dad’s superhuman ability to stomach lemon rice for an entire year and my mom’s newfound hobby of singing at odd intervals tell us more about real, genuine love than conventional acts of “romance” ever could.
The relationship that my parents share isn’t one that can be found between the pages of a Nora Roberts novel or onscreen in a Hallmark Channel film, but it is beautiful and meaningful.
After nearly three decades together, my parents share an indescribable comfort with each other, the kind of relationship that only comes after building a life together.(a=f);var b=i(a);if(CSS&&!
Veel van deze vrouwen zijn wanhopige alleenstaande moeders en gehuwde vrouwen die op zoek zijn naar spannend plezier. Ga je ermee akkoord om de identiteit van deze vrouwen geheim te houden?
Arranged marriages have always presented a unique problem for me.
My parents had an arranged marriage, and nearly all of the adults that I’ve grown up around also had arranged marriages.