As I sit here in 2026, rereading old posts and looking through photos, I know what comes next. And it doesn’t feel right to simply move forward without pausing here first. I don’t want to pull the rug out from under anyone who has been walking through this story with me. More context is needed. More character development, if you will.

Jason and I went through a great deal between December 2008 and June 2009. When we first found each other, I was still emerging from a very traumatic relationship and breakup, spending those early weeks in a haze of pain medication and emotional exhaustion. Jason was also carrying deep wounds from his past—his previous relationship had been physically and profoundly psychologically abusive. We were both hurt. We were both trying to figure out how to breathe again.

We weren’t perfect. We made mistakes, especially in those early months, as two people trying to heal while also learning how to care for one another. But once we found our footing—once we realized that, through all the chaos, we had loved each other from the very beginning—everything softened. We settled in. We stopped bracing for impact and started simply being together.

That’s why there isn’t much written between March and June of 2009. I wasn’t avoiding the story. I was living it.

During that time, I watched something extraordinary happen. My children bonded with Jason in a way they never had with anyone else in my life before—and haven’t since. In many ways, even more deeply than with their own dad. Jason understood them on a level that went beyond surface patience or obligation. He saw them. And they loved him fiercely in return. Our dog, Ludo, was right in the middle of it all too. Our little family of six felt whole. Peaceful. Joyful. It was bliss in the truest sense.

In April, we celebrated Jason’s birthday. My mom took us out to eat, and I caught short video clips and photos as the restaurant staff sang to him. He was embarrassed—but smiling—and I know it meant something to him. Later that night, we went out together, just the two of us, savoring the life we were building.

In May 2009, we all moved into an apartment together. It didn’t feel rushed or forced. It felt right. Like the natural next step. Nothing and no one else mattered. We were happy—genuinely, deeply happy. Life moved forward in the most ordinary, beautiful ways. Andy kept playing soccer. Evan and Cory continued growing toward school, as chronicled in earlier posts. Summer was approaching, and the future felt wide open.

On the night of June 13th, Jason and I stayed up late in bed watching a movie and eating chicken wings. Afterward, we talked for a long time, made love, and talked some more. That night, he proposed to me. I said yes without hesitation.

We had built absolute trust with one another. We knew—without doubt—that we had found our forever person. Our soulmate. We fell asleep in the early morning hours wrapped up in each other, completely certain that our entire future lay ahead of us, together.

That certainty mattered.
That love mattered.
And before the story continues, it deserves to be fully seen.

Brace yourself.