Updated Nov 23, 2025 • ~6 min read
Six months after the vow renewal, life was beautifully mundane.
Jeremy’s consulting work thrived. Three clients, manageable hours, actual work-life balance.
My Henderson campaign won industry awards. Eric promoted me to creative director.
We were successful, happy, disgustingly domestic.
“I’m bored,” Jeremy announced one Saturday morning.
I looked up from my coffee. “Bored?”
“Not with you. Never with you. But with… this.” He gestured vaguely. “We wake up, work, cook dinner, watch TV, sleep. It’s very comfortable.”
“Comfortable is bad?”
“Comfortable is great. But I want adventure too. Remember when we used to be spontaneous?”
“We were twenty-three. Everything felt spontaneous because we had no responsibilities.”
“So let’s be irresponsible.” He pulled out his laptop. “I’m booking us a trip. Right now. Wherever you want.”
“Jeremy—”
“Rose, when’s the last time we did something completely unplanned? Just packed bags and left?”
I thought about it. “Never. We’ve literally never done that.”
“Exactly. So pick a place. Anywhere in the world. We leave tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? I have work—”
“You’re creative director. Delegate. Come on, be reckless with me.”
His eyes sparkled with mischief. The same spark that had made me fall in love with him originally.
“Iceland,” I said. “I’ve always wanted to see the Northern Lights.”
“Iceland it is.” He started typing. “Flights, hotel, rental car. Done. We leave tomorrow at noon.”
“You’re serious.”
“Completely.” He showed me the confirmations. “One week in Iceland. No itinerary, no plans. Just us and adventure.”
I laughed. “You’ve become spontaneous. Who are you?”
“Someone who learned life’s too short to always be responsible.” He pulled me into his lap. “So? You in?”
“Absolutely in.”
The next day, we flew to Reykjavik with two hastily packed suitcases.
Iceland was magical. Glaciers, waterfalls, volcanic landscapes. We drove the Ring Road with no schedule, stopping whenever something looked interesting.
“This is insane,” I said, standing at a waterfall. “We just left. No planning, no stress.”
“This is living. Big difference.” He took my hand. “I spent a decade being responsible. Building the company, making money, being serious. But you know what I learned? None of that matters if you’re not actually enjoying life.”
We hiked glaciers. Swam in hot springs. Chased Northern Lights across dark skies.
One night, watching the aurora dance overhead, Jeremy pulled me close.
“I want kids,” he said suddenly.
I turned to look at him. “What?”
“Kids. With you. I know we never talked about it before, and if you don’t want them that’s okay. But I want you to know—I’m ready. For the next chapter. Building a family. If you are.”
My heart raced. “I’ve thought about it. Always wanted kids but thought I’d missed the window when we divorced.”
“You’re thirty-two. Plenty of time.”
“Are we ready though? We just rebuilt our marriage.”
“We’ve been married seven years. We’re solid now. Communicating, choosing each other, actually functional.” He kissed my temple. “But no pressure. Just wanted you to know where my head is.”
That night, lying in our hotel room, I thought about it.
Kids. With Jeremy. A whole new level of commitment and chaos.
Terrifying. Perfect.
“Okay,” I said into the darkness.
“Okay what?”
“Let’s have kids. Maybe not immediately, but soon. Let’s build that life.”
He rolled to face me. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. I want everything with you. The boring domesticity and the adventure and the chaos of kids. All of it.”
He kissed me. Soft, sweet, full of promise. “We’re going to be amazing parents.”
“Or disasters. Could go either way.”
“I’ll take either as long as it’s with you.”
We returned to Chicago tan, relaxed, and planning our future.
“We should get a bigger place,” Jeremy said, surveying our one-bedroom. “If we’re having kids eventually.”
“Eventually. Not immediately.”
“Right. But planning ahead is smart. Want to start looking?”
We spent weekends touring apartments. Two-bedroom, three-bedroom, places with actual space.
“This one,” I said, walking into a converted loft in West Loop. Exposed brick, huge windows, room to grow.
“It’s perfect,” Jeremy agreed. “Let’s make an offer.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that. We’ve learned spontaneity. Why stop now?”
We got the loft. Moved in slowly, making it ours.
Jeremy’s consulting office in one bedroom. Guest room in the other. “Until it becomes a nursery,” he said.
“You’re really excited about this kid thing, aren’t you?”
“Terrified and excited. Standard combination for us.”
Three months into the new place, Julie came over for dinner.
“Look at you two,” she said. “Actual functioning adults with a grown-up apartment.”
“We’re very mature now,” I said.
“You booked a last-minute trip to Iceland with zero planning.”
“Maturely spontaneous. It’s a thing.”
After dinner, Jeremy excused himself to take a call. Work thing, quick consultation.
Julie turned to me. “Okay, real talk. You’re happy?”
“Deliriously.”
“No regrets? No ‘what if I’d married Charlie’ thoughts?”
“Never. Charlie was safe. Jeremy is alive. I’ll take alive every time.”
“Even when it’s hard?”
“Especially then. The hard stuff is what makes us stronger.” I sipped wine. “We’re trying for a baby. Soon.”
Julie’s eyes went wide. “Are you serious?”
“Completely. We want kids. A whole chaotic family.”
“Holy shit, Rose. That’s huge.”
“I know. But I’m ready. We’re ready.”
“You really are, aren’t you? Different from before.”
“We’re not kids anymore. We know what we’re getting into. And we’re choosing it anyway.”
Jeremy returned, wrapping arms around me from behind. “Did I miss anything?”
“Just Rose telling me you’re trying for a baby.”
“We are. Not actively trying yet, but soon. Maybe next year.” He kissed my neck. “Going to make beautiful, chaotic babies.”
“Terrifying thought,” Julie said. “Two of you running around.”
“Three eventually. Maybe four.”
“Now you’re just showing off.”
That night, after Julie left, Jeremy and I stood on our balcony overlooking the city.
“You know what’s weird?” I said. “I’m not scared anymore. Not of the future, not of us failing, not of anything.”
“That is weird. You’re always scared.”
“I was. But somewhere along the way, I stopped. Started trusting that we can handle whatever comes.”
“We can. Because we’ve already survived the worst. Everything else is just logistics.”
“That’s very zen of you.”
“I’m a changed man. Zen, spontaneous, emotionally available. Basically unrecognizable from who I was.”
“I like who you are now.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I love who you are. Who we are together.”
He pulled me close. “Best decision I ever made. Not signing those divorce papers.”
“Best decision I made was giving you a second chance.”
“Third chance.”
“Fourth, if we’re really counting.”
“Then here’s to fifth, sixth, and all the chances we’ll need over the next fifty years.”
“Fifty years?”
“Minimum. I’m planning to annoy you well into old age.”
“Looking forward to it.”
We stood on our balcony, looking over our city, planning our future.
Kids, chaos, adventure, domesticity. All of it.
Together.
The way it was always supposed to be.
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