One of the main criticisms of the romance genre is that it sets up unrealistic expectations for what life is really like. We all grew up on the Disney version of romance: Snow White and Sleeping Beauty were doomed to languish forever until receiving true-love’s kiss (never mind the fact that she didn’t know anything about him, having only met him once); Cinderella is doomed to a life of servitude until she attends a ball, where she meets a prince, who then puts her shoe back on for her (never mind the fact that she’s only met him once and doesn’t know anything about him). Belle at least gets to spend time with her Beast of a prince before committing to him in marriage—never mind the fact that his life has just completely and utterly changed and she has no idea what he’ll be like now that he’s a completely different “creature.” Ariel’s non-aquatic prince falls for her when she can’t even talk to him so that he can learn anything about her.
Do you get my point? The ending Disney gives us (and many romantic movies, for that matter) is, “And they lived happily ever after.”
Let’s get real. No one lives “happily” ever after. Contentedly, maybe. Companionably, definitely. But no one can be happy for the rest of their lives.