Iena, my side of it
I lost my parents, then moved to Chicago from Dubai. For three years there, I was just existing: partying, numbing myself, making choices that put the hurt on pause. But after a while, that stopgap life stopped working. I wanted change, not numbness. London didn’t feel right yet, so I picked a bolder new start: the U.S.
I matched with Rob on Bumble in October 2019. We talked on the phone first; I wanted to make sure he was real, not a catfish story. When we finally met it was simple: a walk by the lake on the last warm day of summer. We sat in the sun and talked for hours about family, travel, mistakes, dreams. I left knowing I wanted a second date.
I had to have a complex hip replacement very early on due to a birth defect that made me limp. I honestly thought that would be the end of whatever this could be, how could someone stick around when I’d be immobile for months? Rob surprised me. He showed up at the hospital, he slept in that tiny sofa bed, he brought medicines and meals and patience. He helped me to walk again. He changed my catheter when I was too weak to do it myself. Two weeks after meeting, he decided to stay. That level of ordinary, relentless care, that’s when I knew he wasn’t just another swipe.
Rob, my side of it
I won’t lie: I first noticed the accent. British girls in Chicago stand out. Our first “proper” date went sideways-she bumped into friends and left, and then later crashed on my couch hungover. I watched her sleep and thought, Okay, this chaos fits.
When she told me about the surgery, I was scared for her-hip replacements aren’t common in young people-and seeing her in pain, helpless like that, didn’t make me run. It made me want to show up. I went to work every day and came straight back to sit with her. I never felt trapped; I felt like I was exactly where I should be. We skipped the flirty honeymoon nonsense and lived the real stuff together-hard mornings, slow recoveries, ridiculous little triumphs like her first walk without a limp. Those are the memories I keep.
Together we are-the small family that became
A year later, our little family was growing in the most unexpected, wonderful way. Noah wasn’t planned, but he was the densest slice of joy. Watching him discover light and the lake and the sound of the city makes me think this is exactly where we were supposed to land. He’s eight months now, and everything somehow makes sense.
We talk about travel constantly. I’ve always been bitten by the travel bug, living in Dubai and London left me restless and Rob caught it too. We dream about quitting our jobs next year and taking Noah around the world. People warn you that to travel with a baby is hard; sure it is. But my advice is do the hardest place first. Babies are resilient. They love motion and new places. Plan, pack extra patience, and forgive each other when things go sideways.
Parenting together has been messy in the best way. There’s no grand script, just a lot of small, ridiculous moments: spilled milk, exhausted laughter, him dancing to make the baby stop crying. We’re learning to be kind to each other when we mess up, to pause and apologize, to share the joy without hoarding it.
If I’m being honest, that first swipe that started it all felt like a tiny, silly moment. Now I see it for what it became: a life full of clumsy tenderness. We’ve carried each other, from hip surgery to hospital beds down to midnight feeds. And that does matter. We didn’t plan a perfect start, but we’re building one, day to day, with a baby who smiles like he knows the world is kind. In case you’re wondering if a swipe can ever lead to something real, let me be proof that it can.
