I dated a guy who hid me because of my weight. His cousin Spenser lived out of state—we gamed and stayed close. A couple years later, feeling hopeless, I told him goodbye. He said, “As long as we’re under the same stars, you’re not alone.” Five days later, he showed up with a 1982 Silver Eagle bus: “Get your dog. Let’s go home.” A month in, my dad was diagnosed with stage 4 cancer. Spenser stayed. We got married so my dad could walk me down the aisle.

It’s hard to pick just one. I love when we drive out to the middle of nowhere and look at the stars. I’ll never forget when I lost my rings in the sand and, after two hours of searching, he found them. But my favorite memory is our first date. We grabbed McDonald’s and he took me to a beautiful lake in Montana. We ate by the water, talked for hours, and for the first time, I felt completely at peace—with him, with the world, and with myself.

My dad passed in February, leaving things financially tight. With $20,000, I’d start a savings account for our miracle 6-month-old, take the honeymoon we never had—probably back to that beautiful Montana lake from our first date—and finally fix the essentials: replace our broken dishwasher and hot water heater, and reroof our home. It wouldn’t just ease the burden—it would help us breathe again, plan again, and finally enjoy a little of the life we’ve worked so hard to build.