There are seasons in marriage when love is not doubted—but it is tested.
Amara learned this during a year that seemed determined to stretch them thin. It was not dramatic enough to feel like a crisis, yet heavy enough to demand strength. David's work became uncertain. Her own energy felt depleted. The house grew quieter, not from peace, but from exhaustion.
This was the kind of season no one warned them about.
Not betrayal.
Not tragedy.
Just pressure.
They still loved each other. That was never in question. But love, she realized, does not remove strain—it reveals how couples respond to it.
They argued more easily.
Misunderstandings lingered longer. Silence crept in where conversation used to flow.
One night, Amara finally said, "I feel like we're surviving side by side instead of living together."
David didn't defend himself. He didn't minimize her feelings. He listened.
That was the turning point.
They learned that love is not proven by how couples act when life is easy, but by how they return to each other when life is heavy.
They adjusted expectations. Slowed down. Asked for help. Gave grace where frustration once lived.
Marriage, Amara understood, doesn't break under pressure—it bends, if allowed.