So a couple years ago, I got married to a guy. He had pursued me for some time until I finally relented. We dated a handful of weeks until he popped the question, and I said yes. Maybe greedily, as I was less interested in him and more interested in the support having him in my life would give me. So when I was about 32 I moved into his house. It was a nice, a two story house on the water where his boat was docked. I’d spend a lot of time there alone as he’d leave on business for several days at time to New York. So this guy I married had a son, named Nick – you can probably see where this is going. I have no idea how old Nick was, but he was cute, and in college when I met him, and as far I knew single. Nick used to come stay there sometimes, he had his own guest bedroom down the hall from mine. We never had much to say to each other, he was mostly just in and out between semesters at college, and usually when his dad was there anyways.