What they didn’t know was how ridiculously hard we had worked to get the shot right. The camera was set to timer mode, so we’d press the button, rush into position and attempt to look natural for the snap. We’d take one shot and then analyze the result:

“I look crazy.”

“I look like an old man.”

“You’re forcing it.”

“Is my left eye melting off my face?”

It went on like that until our muscles ached from smiling and the sun went down, but with the help of some tasteful editing, the final version looked effortless and pure. And because of the timer, we may have even fooled some people into believing it wasn’t a boastful selfie.

I used to love telling the story of how we met. But now I don’t, so I won’t. What really matters is this: I failed to take seriously that he had, just a day before we began our romance, broken up with his previous long-term girlfriend.

I routinely repressed thoughts that I could be the rebound girl or a placeholder for him until the real deal came along. I pushed forward, drawn to his good looks, intelligence and manners. I loved how expressive he was with his hands when he spoke.

Despite the good, I always felt as if I had to prove to everyone that he and I were happy and that our relationship was legitimate, and social media helped. On Facebook, I was able to exclude the negative — a dismissive comment here, a lie there — and showcase not only how I wanted others to see us but how I wanted to see us.

Sometimes he would comment on how he thought I’d be happier with a “Pacific Northwest lumberjack type” who wasn’t as “strait-laced” as he was. To be fair: I was the one who convinced him to grow a beard, trying, I suppose, to nudge him toward the image of the boyfriend I had imagined for myself.