I was raised to always be sure of three things: always put money in your savings account; never rely on a man; and know that no matter what, you can always come home. Had I maybe heeded the ingenious advice of the former two, I wouldn't be suffering the humiliation of the latter. And it was humiliating. Not just because I had to go home at twenty-seven years old, but because I had to go home to my small town and tell them that I had been proposed to and dumped within twenty-four hours by a man I had been with for five years. I had no idea at the time, though, that going home to lick my wounds and reevaluate my life would also lead me right into the hands of a man I never could have expected...