It all makes sense. My lack of friends. My unwillingness to settle down, to find a promising career path, to dream. I never wanted to date—to make time for people in my life. I make thousands of excuses that hold me back from truly living, and the final puzzle piece reveals the reason why. I’m not meant to. The realization slams into me, slices through me, opens me up. But I welcome it—the truth. Maybe the reason I could never feel satisfied with life is because I’m not meant to live a full one. I’m not meant to meet my future husband or have children. The fewer people who care about me, the
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