A Fairytale Beginning… Or So I Thought
Once upon a time, in the fairytale world I’d crafted in my childhood mind, I imagined love would find me in the most enchanting way. My Prince Charming would be devastatingly handsome, hopelessly devoted, and would propose in the grandest, most unforgettable way. Our wedding would be the event of the year, with the entire town gathered to celebrate our perfect love story. Then, naturally, we’d ride off into the sunset and live happily ever after.
Unfortunately, life had other plans.
The Night I Met My Ex
Instead of a fairytale romance, I met my ex-husband at a cookout I’d randomly decided to attend. He was handsome and mysterious—quiet in a way that made me want to know more. I had spent the morning at the beach with a coworker, grabbed lunch with her, and when the invite for the cookout came, we thought, why not? It was also a pool party, so I spent the whole day in my swimsuit—something only my younger self could pull off. Oh, how I miss that body… but I digress.
That night, we went to Rhythm and Booms, a fireworks show synchronized to music. I had only my bikini and a cover-up, so he offered me his T-shirt. It smelled like BO, but I thought it was the best scent in the world. Love—or something like it—was definitely in the air.
The night continued with my first-ever experience at a gay bar, where my ex frequently went because his best friend was gay (and, bonus, he got free drinks). A foam party was supposed to happen, but we missed it. Still, the night was a whirlwind of new experiences. At bar close, I invited my ex and his friends back to my apartment’s pool. They decided to skinny-dip, the police were called, and I narrowly avoided a ticket by staying dry, just providing towels and drinks.
The Red Flags I Ignored
Looking back, I should’ve seen the warning signs. At Rhythm and Booms, he flirted by throwing grass on me and showing off his glow-in-the-dark teeth—achieved by smearing firefly guts on them. While walking to our car after the show, he jumped on top of an ATM while people were actively withdrawing money. Once at our car, waiting for traffic to clear, we heard a party on the other side of the fence. He recognized someone and jumped the fence, dragging us all into the party. I remember someone asking him to do a shot off their stomach, and then, of course, he broke their patio screen door by running into it. Romantic, right?
And yet, I was smitten.
He slept over that night because he passed out in my bed. No, nothing happened. In fact, when I tried to kiss him, he pushed me away, later claiming he thought I was one of the guys trying to make a move on him. I ended up curled up in the bed next to him, as he sprawled out across it. The next morning, I drove him home. He wanted my number, but neither of us had phones (yes, it was the pre-smartphone era). So, I scribbled it down on the nearest thing—cardboard from my emergency tampon box. The height of elegance.
When he finally called, I realized I couldn’t understand a word he said. He was a chronic mumbler. I resorted to texting just to have a coherent conversation.
It didn’t take long to realize we weren’t soulmates. My lease was up, so I decided to move back home, an hour and a half away, thinking that would be the end of it. But he followed.
The “Business Decision” Marriage
One night, in a moment of reckless nostalgia (and maybe tequila), I called him. Nine months later, we had our first child. We didn’t marry until our daughter was one and a half, and by then, it wasn’t about love—it was about survival. I didn’t know how to do it alone, so I convinced myself that making it work was the best choice.
I remember our proposal vividly because I planned the dinner myself. When we arrived at the restaurant, I even told the hostess he was about to propose, and she looked at me like I was crazy. When he finally pulled out the ring, I had to remind him to get on one knee. No grand gestures. No sweeping romance. Just another checkmark on the life checklist.
Over the years, our “business partnership” unraveled. Our fights were intense. I yelled because I wanted to be heard, but he didn’t care to listen. And our kids saw it all.
The Moment I Knew It Was Over
One night, I took my oldest daughter to a parent meeting for her sport. When it was time to leave, she kept hanging out with her friends. Finally, I firmly told her it was time to go. She snapped, “Do you think I want to go home when all you do is scream at Dad?”
I was mortified.
On the drive home, I told her, “I just have to get a divorce. Let the chips fall where they may.”
And that was it. The moment of clarity. I had been holding on for all the wrong reasons—fear, obligation, the belief that I needed to give my kids the full-sibling experience I never had. But I realized then that what my kids needed more than anything was peace. And I needed it too.
A New Beginning
So here I am, no longer the naive girl dreaming of a fairytale ending, but a woman who has learned that sometimes, the best happily ever after is the one you build for yourself.
Let the chips fall where they may.
