Chapter 4: Learning to Be Loved

But then I met Caleb.

He was nothing like Harrison. That was the first thing I liked about him. Thank God.

Being with him was something I never expected.

He made me laugh, made me feel safe. It was new, and it scared me.

Between us, he was the one who gave more. I enjoyed his care and warmth.

He cooked, fixed things, listened to me ramble. I let myself rely on him.

As we spent time together, I could feel my once-cold heart warming up, and I became more alive.

I started to smile more, laugh more. The world felt brighter.

So this is what being cared for feels like. Kinda addictive.

At first, I treated Caleb like a roommate.

We kept our distance, polite but distant. It worked—for a while.

We lived together, but in separate rooms. We’d agreed to divorce after a year. I was polite and courteous.

Roommate rules. We left Post-it notes on the fridge, shared the Wi-Fi password, and minded our own business.

Cooking was my therapy. The kitchen was my safe place.

Since I couldn’t finish the food alone, and wasting it felt wrong, I invited Caleb to eat with me.

He accepted, grinning. Soon, it became a ritual.

After a while, he got spoiled and wouldn’t eat out anymore.

He’d wrinkle his nose at takeout, insisting nothing beat my cooking.

At first, we’d chat occasionally. Later, we talked more and more. Couldn’t help it.

He’d tell me stories from job sites—funny, wild, sometimes sad. I listened, fascinated.

Caleb once told me he’d never planned to marry. He’d watched his mom cheat over and over, bringing different men home, and it gave him a complex about women.

His voice was rough, but honest. I could tell it hurt him to say it.

But he owed Harrison, so when asked for this favor, he agreed without hesitation. He’d planned to stay single anyway—a fake marriage was no big deal.

He shrugged it off, but I saw the hurt.

As the year was almost up, I brought up divorce.

Kitchen table, coffee mugs, nerves.

But Caleb asked to talk seriously. He said he’d changed his view of women and marriage, and asked if I’d give him a chance—to try a real relationship.

He looked nervous, his voice softer than usual. I saw hope in his eyes.

He fiddled with his mug, waiting for my answer.

After a year together, I wasn’t surprised he’d react this way as we were about to part.

I’d felt it too—a reluctance to let go, a longing for more.

Because I’d found myself reluctant to let go, too.

I wanted him to stay. I wanted more.

I didn’t want to end things or have regrets.

I’d had enough regrets for a lifetime.

I nodded and said, “Okay.”

His smile lit up the whole room. I felt something inside me shift.

Caleb was completely different from Harrison and from any of the professionals I’d worked with before.

He was messy, loud, honest. Totally different.

He always kept his hair cropped short, never styled. He’d never worn a suit or tie. In summer, it was always tank tops, shorts, and flip-flops; in winter, sweats or sportswear and sneakers. He didn’t like wine or fancy food—his favorite was barbecue and beer.

He’d drag me to backyard cookouts, teach me how to flip burgers, and cheer for his team like it was the Super Bowl.

He had a loud voice, laughed heartily, and would curse when his favorite team lost.

The neighbors probably thought we were nuts, but I loved it.

He was rough around the edges, but also patient and caring.

He’d fix things around the house, leave notes in my lunchbox, and always remembered to buy my favorite ice cream.

He’d show up in my garden with a shovel, ready to tackle the tough stuff.

He grumbled about the smell, but never complained.

Once, a security guard in our complex harassed me. Caleb got him fired and made him apologize to me in person.

He stood beside me, arms crossed, making sure I felt safe. I’d never felt so protected.

When Grandma passed away, he helped with everything, even carrying her casket with me when the family was needed, and stayed by my side through the hardest time.

He just let me fall apart.

He knew everything about my past but didn’t care. He said he didn’t want to dig into it—after a year together, he knew who I was and trusted his own judgment.

He told me, "The past is the past. I care about who you are now."

His love was intense, but never overwhelming.

He never played games. He just loved me, plain and simple.

During our year as a fake couple, he was the one slowly warming, comforting, and accepting me.

He broke down my walls, slow and steady.

Honestly, being cared for like this is hard to resist—I fell for him.

It was scary, but also the best thing that ever happened to me.

Life is long, and finding someone to share it with is a blessing.

I stopped waiting for the other shoe to drop. I let myself be happy.

Caleb and I never divorced. We kept living under the same roof, but now as a real couple.

We made the place our own.

Although I’d been with Harrison for five years, we were never a real couple. Caleb had never dated anyone before either.

We were both rookies at love, learning as we went.

Nearly thirty, neither of us had much relationship experience. We learned to date—going out, traveling, chatting, cuddling on the sofa to watch movies.

We burned popcorn, argued about movie choices, and made up before the credits rolled.

After a year and a half, we both knew we wanted to spend our lives together.

We just knew.

We already had our marriage license, so we skipped the formalities. Instead of a wedding, we traveled together as our way of celebrating.

We road-tripped across the country—Grand Canyon sunsets, Nashville honky-tonks, Maine lobster rolls. It was messy and perfect.