Most of humanity gets by without reading novels or poetry, and no one would deny the richness of their thoughts.
A person is, among all else, a material thing, easily torn and not easily mended.
But what really happened? The answer is simple: the lovers survive and flourish.
What reader wants to be told what attitude to strike?
Who you get, and how it works out - there's so much luck involved, as well as the million branching consequences of your conscious choice of a mate, that no one and no amount of talking can untangle it if it turns out unhappily.
It's good to get your hands dirty a bit and to test how you see things at a given point. And it's very pleasing after writing something like 'Atonement' or 'On Chesil Beach,' which are historical, to get involved in some plausible re-enactment of the here and now.