Eight years earlier—before the ring, before the prenup, before he was ever my fiancé—we met in St. Petersburg, Florida.
My daughter was in her second year at NYU, and we had both flown down to Tampa to celebrate the Christmas holiday with my family. Climbing into my cousin’s big SUV reminded us of years past, and as we pulled away from the Tampa airport, we picked up right where we left off.
My cousin’s house sat on an inlet off Tampa Bay and had become the go-to for the holidays. Not only did it host family gatherings, but the warm weather, beautiful setting, and the fact that we could step out onto the patio—and a small beach—made it the ideal escape from the cold winter.
As the kids caught up inside, the adults headed out to the dock—cocktail in hand—to finally sit down and start enjoying the holiday.
Behind us, the music played, the kids laughed, and below us the waves lapped quietly under our conversation, reminding us that all was well.
While we were talking, my cousin picked up a pair of binoculars that had been sitting on the table and handed them to me. “That’s where he lives,” she said, pointing across the water and motioning beyond what I could see.
They’d mentioned him before—a single dad who also grew up in Cincinnati. He was an entrepreneur they’d met at their kids’ baseball game, someone who went to church and had been building a home across the bay.
Aside from the few details they’d shared, I hadn’t formed a clear image of him. But my curiosity accepted the binoculars, and as I began zooming in on the stretch of shoreline my cousin had pointed to, a house came into view—larger than the rest, distinct in shape: a three-story home with a bell tower.
“He refers to it as the Castle—and the neighbors behind him no longer have a view of the bay,” someone said incredulously, laughing as if it were nothing more than neighborhood gossip—while completely missing the implications.
And as my eyes rested on the home, I noticed an old, deserted ladder leaning silently against the turret, but no other sign of life. For some reason, the silence I felt made the house feel abandoned.
I handed back the binoculars. “That’s the guy you want me to meet?”
Although I’d been dating, it wasn’t that important to me at this point in my life, and the idea of another long-distance relationship made no sense. Besides, I’d flown down to Tampa to spend time with my daughter and my family—not meet someone new.
So that’s where the conversation ended.
That same evening, as my daughter and I sat on the floor playing cards at a wide Chinese coffee table in the middle of the family room, I could hear my family behind me—gathered around the kitchen island, laughing and celebrating over champagne and appetizers. I felt a quiet wave of gratitude—not just for time with my daughter, but for the rare moment of being surrounded by family in Florida—when the doorbell rang.
Without mentioning it, my cousin had invited a neighbor to stop by and join us for pizza and holiday festivities.
When I answered the door, he wasn’t what I expected. But before I knew it, it was time to pick up the pizza—and when I offered to go, he offered to drive.
And I agreed—without realizing what I was saying yes to.
Next Week: Chapter 6 – The Love Affair: Swept Away
What I didn’t see back then was how perfectly timed this introduction was.
A year earlier, I had sold my home, bought a four-unit property, moved in, and mapped out my finances. I knew that once my daughter graduated, I would pivot—whether that meant advancing at the agency or stepping out on my own. I was preparing for change, methodically.
By November, that clarity had crystallized. I closed out the quarter by presenting a bold, strategic business idea—first to my boss, then to the CEO—designed to position the firm for long-term success. When they passed, I felt proud of my work and clear about my next step: I had more to offer.
Although I hadn’t resigned yet, my letter was written. I was ready to leave a stable, ten-year career at one of Cincinnati’s top brand agencies—a role I had earned despite holding a degree in corporate fitness.
From the outside, it looked like a woman stepping confidently into her next chapter. And in many ways, I was.
But the truth is, I was also exhausted from carrying it all on my own.
For two decades, I carried the responsibilities of both parents in many ways. I put in the hours, made the sacrifices, saved what I could, and stayed steady enough to help my daughter get into her dream school in New York City. When she left, I finally had room to exhale. Room to dream again.
But in that space, a new kind of vulnerability emerged.
For the first time in years, I wasn’t responsible for anyone but myself.
I had freedom—but no witness.
Ambition—but no anchor.
And as powerful as that was, it also left me wide open to someone who seemed to offer both.
He showed up right as I was rewriting everything—and without realizing it, I let him write himself in.
And that’s why I’m telling this story.
Because I know what it’s like to finally feel free, only to find yourself reaching for something—or someone—to steady the ground beneath you.
But what if that ground isn’t outside of you?
What if the security you’re chasing is actually a signal pointing you back to who and what you were created for?
What if your castle isn’t the dream—it’s the distraction?
And what would happen if you stopped looking for shelter… and started building from within?
That’s what I hadn’t learned yet.
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