I’m Chloe. At 25, I thought I had it all figured out: living in my mom’s old South Carolina house, freelancing as a graphic designer, with Jake—my boyfriend of two years—as my housemate. Life was cozy until Jake quit his job, letting me cover nearly everything while he drifted aimlessly, insisting he’d “find his passion.”
He eventually proposed—on my dime—and my pragmatic mom suggested we go to Alaska, live rent-free, work fishing and winter jobs, and save up for a ring, a house, a wedding. Excited, I planned our move.
Days before, I went on a final girlfriend trip. Returning early, I found my packed boxes—mine only—while Jake lounged with his new girlfriend, Maddie, in “our” living room. He’d used the Alaska story to kick me out and moved her in.
Crushed, I flew to Alaska alone. My mom welcomed me. I found a job on fishing boats, rediscovered my strength, and watched family and friends evict Jake and Maddie from my house. There, I met Nate: hardworking, steady, caring. Two years later, we bought a mountain house together.
Alaska changed everything for the better—and taught me my worth.