When I came to this country, my goal was to get married to the man of my dreams, not help raise children. In fact, I wasn’t even sure I wanted children up until I met Stan. He was on holiday with his mates - a bachelor party he called it, but I was more familiar with it as a stag party. Considering Stan was American, I forgave him.

We met at a pub in Cambridge. I was studying literature at Pembroke and needed to step away from anything related to school after we had our exams. Stan was there with his mates and our parties hooked up from there.

I couldn’t stop staring at him. He was older than I was by a few years, probably mid-to-late twenties at the most, with shaggy dark hair and dark eyes, sharp cheekbones, and a warm smile. I liked that he was quieter than his friends. He didn’t seem interested in meeting women; rather, he was keen on helping his friend celebrate something as special as marriage. I wasn’t one to believe in the notion of love at first sight, but I definitely had stirrings for him.

We talked and danced that night, and for the rest of the time he was here, we met up and dated. It was a whirlwind. By the time he was leaving, I was already crying, knowing I was head-over-heels for him, knowing there was nothing I could do to make him stay.

Until he invited me to come with him.

“I’m crazy about you,” he said just before he left. “I’m away from home a lot but it would mean everything to me to have you waiting for me at home. Knowing I get to come home to you would make me the happiest man alive.”

Not exactly a wedding proposal but it was something I could work with.

When I told him I couldn’t just leave my friends and family to travel halfway across the world for a guy, he proposed. Being hopelessly romantic and having just earned my degree, I accepted. I applied for a visa two days later and was approved in August. My family thought I was crazy but I didn’t particularly care what they thought. They hadn’t been in love the way I was with Stan. I used all my savings to apply for that visa and had just enough left over for a one-way ticket. Stan picked me up August thirtieth, and I was positive on the drive home, we would start discussing possible dates, wedding venues, the lot. It was all I could think about on the eleven-hour flight over here.

But he was surprisingly quiet about the whole thing.

At first, I thought nothing of it. He probably wanted to focus on the now, get used to me back in his life. He didn’t want to waste our first moments together talking about our future when we had all the time in the world together.

We made love when we got home. It was dark by the time we arrived so I didn’t get a chance to look at where I would call my new home. I did notice it was a small town, with stop lights hanging from wires and houses spaced apart on decent plots of land. I could also hear the ocean, which was nice. I always loved the ocean. After that, we collapsed. Well, he collapsed. Due to jet lag and the fact that England was eight hours ahead of the west coast of the United States, I was awake. Stan hadn’t told me where to unpack so I left my clothes in my luggage. Instead, I padded into his living room and turned on the telley and watched the game until I fell asleep.

When I woke up, Stan was gone, with only a note saying he had to sail out early and didn’t want to wake me. He’d be back in two days and left me money if I wanted to get food as well as the keys to his car if I wanted to get around.

It went much like this for the next four months, until I confronted him. In my entire time here, we had yet to discuss the wedding at all. He hadn’t even gotten an engagement ring for me to wear, a band on my finger.

“I’m not going to change, Bea,” he said. “This is my livelihood. You don’t have to like it but if you want to get married, eventually, you’ll have to accept it.”

I didn’t.

Maybe I should have given him another chance. Maybe I should have tried to be more understanding because I did know he was a fisherman and I did know their jobs weren’t exactly typical. I knew he had an odd schedule and I still chose to come out here, expecting the same man from before, from his mate’s stag party.

But regular life wasn’t like it was when on vacation, was it?

I left and found a sympathetic old woman, Marlene, who took me in and had me do chores to pay my keep. I moved out while Stan was away, leaving him a note if my own. The next day, I applied for my work visa. That took a couple of weeks to approve and once it was, Marlene helped find me a job. She knew the principal at the elementary school and soon I had a job there as an assistant, working with a first grade class.

“And that’s my story,” I concluded, sitting across from a pretty young woman at Coco to Go, a small cafe right on the water. She had pretty brown hair and a gigantic rock on her slender ring finger.

“That’s fascinating,” she said. “Now, being a nanny is much different than working with kids. Are you comfortable living with a single father and his child - who is absolutely delightful by the way? He’s not really around. As a contractor, he works from sun up to sun down and Thea needs someone stable in her life.”

“Absolutely,” I said. “That is not going to be a problem, Mo.”

“Perfect!” She jumped up and stuck out her hand. “I’ll take this to Will and we’ll be in touch.”

I smiled. Perfect. This was a good step to take, a first step to being on my own two feet.