If I ever choose to start dating again, I want the man to be at least thirty and a single dad.
When I was twenty-six, I decided to end a six-year marriage. Despite my youth, we went through a lot together from pregnancy and adoption to multiple miscarriages, changing jobs, foster care, relocating to a different state, and hidden struggles. By that time, I was divorced and carrying a lot of emotional pain.
I hoped to find someone who understood the deeper parts of my mind and soul. It was important that he had faced his own obstacles. I wasn’t searching for someone inexperienced; I wanted a partner who knew what it was like to rebuild after falling apart. I realized the journey would be messy, tough, and complex but also deeply rewarding.
That’s when I met Kevin.
According to all timelines and common expectations, meeting him was poorly timed. But as time passed, I started believing it might be exactly right.
I was at a cellphone store, pretending to browse phones but secretly watching him. He was charming an elderly couple and catching my eye from across the room. Eventually, he walked over to me.
“Why switch from iPhone to Android?” he asked.
I answered, “Pixel phones have better cameras.”
He disagreed, flipped his iPhone to selfie mode, and said, “This camera works great. Come here, let me show you something sweet heart.” I felt my face getting red.
“You look familiar,” he said.
I smiled and said, “You do too.”
He tried to guess where we might have met, but nothing clicked. When he mentioned living outside the city, I asked why.
“I own three acres. I’m a country guy who loves his space.”
I asked, “Do you have kids who play there?” hoping he’d say yes.
He started to respond, “Oh yeah” but got cut off by another employee.
My heart raced. He has children. Still, I reminded myself it wasn’t the right time.
I left the store with my new iPhone and a mind swirling with questions, unsure if I should’ve given him my number. I hadn’t, yet within an hour he risked his job by retrieving my number and texting me. I was thrilled.
The first couple of months were cautious dinners, long conversations, and mutual hesitation.
I can’t allow you to meet my children until I’m sure,” he stated.
“They’ll love you, but I don’t want to hurt them if this doesn’t work out.”
I understood completely. Even after we officially started dating, I didn’t feel the need to meet his children right away.
One day, he inquired, “Do you want to hang out this weekend with me and the guys? I reserved a hotel suite so they could swim.”
“Are you sure?”
“I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t.”
I said yes, nervous but ready to be myself. I wasn’t there to replace anyone or try too hard just to be me.
Sitting in the suite, my mind raced with questions: How would he introduce me? Did their mother know? Would the kids feel uncomfortable? Would I?
Then the door opened wide.
“Natalie,” Kevin called, “Come on in.”
I smiled and said, “Hi everyone!”
He introduced me to Jalen and Jordan. I reached for a handshake, but they hugged me instead. That night, they played video games while I quietly laughed.
The following day at the pool, we connected further splashing, playing games, and enjoying laughter. In a matter of weeks, they embraced me upon their arrival and departure.
We went on park trips, picnicked in the garden, had pillow fights, and enjoyed happy moments.
My sons and his sons connected well. The older kids looked out for the younger ones. Even though summer had only recently started, my heart was already brimming with joy.
One evening, as I was cooking, Kevin’s nine-year-old asked, “So… are we a family now?”
I hesitated. We consider numerous individuals family including the Causeys. . We love all of you like family too.”
“I love our family,” he said. “My heart is full.”
I took a deep breath. “Me too, J. Always hold on to that love.” He nodded and gave me a tight hug.
I had said I wouldn’t introduce my children to any man until after six months to a year of dating, and I had said I wouldn’t start dating until January 2020. Yet here I am, violating my own principles and for some reason, it feels appropriate.
This past year burned me to the ground, but this feels like hope. Even if heartbreak happens again, it will have been worth it. Healing. Optimism. Evidence that I am endearing, even during my lowest times.
This unexpected, unofficial, surprising journey?
It’s all about family.
