I decided, on a whim, to move to NYC one spring. Everyone asked me if I thought I'd meet someone, fall in love, and never come back to Austin. I doubted it.
We talked all afternoon and all night. He walked me home. I might have immediately made some phone calls announcing that I'd found The One. I couldn't explain the details. Like how this would possibly work. But it just had to.
After our first date, I spent the whole night staring at the bedroom ceiling trying to imagine how this could possibly work. By that point I was certain. It absolutely had to.
When I flew back to Texas by myself at the end of the summer, I cried. But he whispered in my ear: don't worry. I'll be there soon. And he was.
A few months later he left the big city to start a new life with me in Austin. A year later we were married. Almost five years and two kids later, I'm just as certain as I was sitting in Central Park, standing in front of my Upper East Side apartment, and staring at the bedroom ceiling: he is the one.
I wasn't expecting to fall in love in NYC. I wasn't sure how on earth it would work. But I did. And it did. And I couldn't be happier.
-- Laura, from Dirty Diaper Chic
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