At the end of winter 2023, my life was forever changed. My ex-husband left our home under police escort after five years of manipulation, physical, emotional, and financial abuse. I cried. It was both relief and distress. It was grief and joy. It was the sound of freedom ringing loudly, declaring a new chapter, and I embraced it with full force.

A few months later, I went to Italy for a work retreat, and it was an incredible experience—a whole new world. I met my coworkers in person, explored Lake Garda, and got to know both them and the business better. I also saw a man I still have a schoolgirl crush on. I giggle when I think of him. I also feel a little embarrassed by the way i was. haha! But the most memorable meeting of that trip wasn’t my crush on the attorney or even my brilliant colleagues—it was Stefano Lazzari.

The day I landed at Malpensa Airport, he pinged my OkCupid account with an introduction and a super-like. He said, “Where have you been hiding? I need to know you.” And I was afraid! I thought he was handsome in his photos, and I figured I’d have a little fling while I was abroad. It was big hoe energy. I thought it was going to be something casual. But that’s not what happened at all. He made it clear he didn’t want to just be friends. He peppered me with questions, wanted to spend time with me, take me out, and even cook for me. My only thought was, “Don’t get kidnapped out here!”

When we finally met, it was on my birthday. I already had dinner with some co-workers, so we didn’t eat together really. He bought me ice cream, and we watched Suits and Hamilton. We stayed up half the night talking and getting to know each other. He spent the night with me. ( I know that wasn’t a safe choice). The next day, we roamed around Milan, and he bought me a purse that I love. It was vindication that lavender and orange can work beautifully together. A fake friend told me in college that those colors could NEVER work together.

We went to a farmers market, walked around a park, visited old churches and castles, and ate at MamaJuana. We took a nap, made love, and explored some more. We had Milanese risotto at a cute open-air osteria, and I told him all my big dreams. I told him about writing, about the nature school, about my niece and nephew who i was caring for, about my favorite spot on the river in Atlanta. I cried, laughed, and fell in love with him without realizing. I spent most of my time trying to rationalize the feelings I was having. I tried to see other people so that I could slow down the intensity of it all. So I could make rational choices that weren’t driven by those crazed new love hormones. Oxytocin, Serotnin and dopamine fueled decisions that are always life altering.

The next day, we went to Bergamo, stopping at an Indian/Mexican fusion restaurant for tacos. The walls were decorated with flowers and there was a mural of Frida Khalo. We ate and talked and laughed together. He ordered for me in Italian, because at the point all I knew was “Per favore”, “Grazie” and “Ciao” We walked until we couldn’t anymore, then took a bus up the hill to the older parts of Bergamo. We held hands, talked about zodiac signs, and he asked if I wanted to meet his family. I said it was too soon, and in hindsight, I regret that choice. I remember that on the bus he asked me for change, since the card reader on the bus was acting strangely and I gave him all the euro coins that I had without thinking twice about it. I’m pretty careful with money, so I clearly trusted him. I also remember referring to him as a “sex god” because I didn’t really need to give a lot of direction to be satisfied. He went home, and I went back to my hotel, and i cried when we separated. I told myself i was being ridiculous. “girl, you just met that man”.

I worked the next two days, trying not to reach out to him, but i did and asked what he was doing that Tuesday or Wednesday. He said i should come up to his place and I trusted him, so I did. We spent that afternoon and evening together. WE made love, we snacked and then He took me to around his neighborhood. We went to a restaurant called Melo Verde in Vercurago, on a lake with mountains in the distance. We walked, hand in hand, while he told me about his family and pointed out where on the mountains in the distance his families mountain residence was.

We walked back to his place so I could go to the bathroom before heading back to town. He kissed me in his living room and I was tempted to just stay. I remember he walked me back to the train station and kissed me good night and i felt like I needed him to kiss me that way forever. and then I went back to my hotel. The next day, I packed my bags, got on a plane, and returned to the States. I cried and thought, he’s going to be my friend for a long time. He said he didn’t want to be just friends; we were going to be together. I shrugged it off, as I still wasn’t legally divorced and needed time to heal from the abuse of my marriage.

When i was at home it was a bit easier to navigate without talking to him. I didn’t forget him though. We texted and talked, and i just took my time, and explored other connections. I didn’t want to rush in, and I wanted to make sound decisions. But Oxytocin, dopamine and serotonin together are a powerful drug.

A summer of lemons and lemonade

Over the summer, we texted almost every day. He shared owl memes on Instagram because he knows I love owls. We shared fantasies, had digital “getdowns,” and nurtured our budding romance from a distance. We had intentional Thursday dates. We made plans to meet in Miami, forging a summer romance that tasted like lemonade and felt like Sandy’s part of Summer Nights from Grease. We fought, we played, we slept together, and we slept apart. We were hot, and he looked like a lobster because he wouldn’t let me put sunscreen on him. I swam in the ocean and met one of his friends. It was exciting because he was always proud to be seen with me. He always held my hand and gave me kisses. He’d walk and I’d walk close by too.

He took care of me while I worked, and I took care of him when I was off. We read and watched movies together, got high and danced, explored each other’s bodies, and explored Miami. We unpacked our emotional baggage together and cried together. It was an amazing experience, and when we parted ways, I cried. I didn’t want to be apart from him. I felt loved and adored in a way I’d never felt in a relationship before. The way he loved me bloomed a confidence that I hadn’t had since college. That I could trust myself and trust my decisions.

We met up again in the fall, this time in Italy. I was there about 3 weeks and I stayed with him. He took me to Venice because I asked in the spring when I was there before. He paid for everything, and I was the passenger princess, DJing our way there. I still have the playlist of songs he suggested, or that he sent me via Shazam. It was a dream. The condo had a hot tub in the bedroom, and we wandered around Venice, took a gondola ride, and kissed under the moonlight on a ferry. He even took me to the ocean so I could dip my feet in, checking another sea off my list.

Boats and Besos

I met another friend of his in Cittadella, where we saw a football match. I forgot how much I enjoyed soccer. I didn’t feel rushed to leave, i just watched and enjoyed. He was so into the game, and I was in awe of him. I spent a lot of time on that trip observing him. Lecco lost, but it was still a good match. We had dinner, and I FaceTimed my sister to show her the man who was showing me what real love looked like. She was happy for me, but i think he said he wasn’t ready to meet my family yet.

I met his family on that trip and instantly loved them. He took me to his parents’ mountain house, where they were so welcoming and kind. It almost felt like home. He was never ashamed to be seen with me; he was always proud. He introduced me and we talked about my plans. I said that I had to move and that I was going to spend the winter in Europe exploring. I thought about Portugal at an Outsite house for that experience. We talked about my work and about Stefano as a child. I asked if he was a trouble maker and his mom said he was a saintly child. His dad didn’t seem to agree. His mother asked me what we had in common, and i said plenty. It was a good question. She also asked about this video game that he liked to play, and I said, I didn’t mind it. As long as he was present when he needed to be, the game wasn’t a big deal to me.

He took me to their families lake house and we made love overlooking Lake Como. It was sensation soup. the view, and the smells of the house and his hands on my body. it was almost dopamine overload. How can all these beautiful pleasurable things exist at once. I was floating. I remember a night in in his living room. We sat on the couch together as we did, reading and talking, listening to the radio. I straddled him and we began to make out. We just kissed and touched and i felt so pulled into him. This was the day that I got settled in to my feelings for him. It was no longer a feeling at a distance, it was integrated. We were together. he was for me and I as for him.

Wintry revelry

When it was time to leave, I cried. He was becoming home to me. We decided I’d return in December. I would store my things at his place and travel around and see more of Italy. I ended up staying with him for all of December. We built a routine together, and he taught me how to eat for my health. We ate lunch and dinner together everyday, we read books while cuddling, and played. I would go on walks around the lake and write poetry and contemplate the beauty of nature. I met one of his nonna’s and had lunch with his aunts and cousins. I felt comfortable there as well. His Nonna fed me boiled eggs. He said that it made her happy that I ate her food and liked it. We got into our first huge fight that month. I do remember what it was over, but I won’t share that part. I was still having a hard time separating my emotions from his. How am I feeling VS how is he feeling. I wanted to run, to end things, but instead, I took a trip to Verona alone to find myself without him, to get clear on what I wanted, and to set boundaries for our relationship.

We spent Christmas apart while i was in Verona. I spent that time contemplating the choices i made in my love life up until that point. From eloping, to lying about eloping, to staying with someone for every reason but the right one. I listened to my favorite Christmas albums and danced and thought about what I wanted from this partner in this relationship. After spending the weekend alone. I was resolved to make different choices for my life. I had lunch with his family on the 26th of December. When Stefano picked me up from the train station, he looked so good that I couldn’t stay mad at him. I’m pretty sure he’s a shapeshifter, because he wasn’t that fine when I left. HAHA! He shaved down his beard til it had a five o’clock shadow vibes. He had on this sweater and khaki’s and his sneakers and I instantly melted. I couldn’t stay mad at him. We had a brief chat at his parents house, but we stayed in close proximity. We didn’t really discuss that happened, but we promised to communicate better and we officially reconnected that night while watching a movie. I felt close to him again and was happy to be.

I was with him when I found out my grandmother died. I remember that morning so clearly. I was worshiping and I got the urge to make rice and beans. I ate breakfast and got a very strong sensation and it felt like my grandmother and I told her in Kreyol to stop playing with me. I wasn’t ready for her to go, but I’m pretty sure I knew as soon as It happened. Later that day, my father called me and told me she was gone. I regret not letting Stefano help me navigate the passage home—he wanted to, but I didn’t want to be a burden. I cried alone in his bed. He ran all over town with me to get ingredients so I could make Soup Joumou as a comfort food. We spent New Year’s eve with his family. While I grieved, I watched him in his element with his family and it brought me joy. He’s so much like his dad but also like his mom. His brother was there and I think some family friends. I watched how Stefano’s mom was with her boys, offering kisses and gifts even in their mid-thirties. I watched Stefano help his mother cook and he prepped my gluten free and lactose free things for me. They ate my soup and celebrate Haitian Independence day with me. We spent most of the night eating and talking and organic farming being bullshit and how bresaola is imported from Argentina.

I flew back to the States, and I cried. We stayed in touch, and I told him I was ready to return to him. He called me on the phone, which he doesn’t really like doing, and it made me feel secure. But I also needed it less that time. I didn’t need to hear his voice to know he was mine. While I was there I bought a few things I thought the apartment needed. I got him underwear, socks, pillows, cutting boards and a few other things that I thought he needed for his place. I even got a gift for his mom, because I thought she might find it useful.

It felt like spring time on this February morning

In February, I returned to Italy, and we spent time together like we had in December. This time i was spending time in the Milan office, getting to know my co-workers more. When I’d come home from work. He’d run to meet me at the door , and occasionally do the same for him. I remember Wednesday night being pizza night or something that didn’t take a long time to cook, so i could eat when i got in around 7:30, 8pm.

I told him I wanted to go to Nice, but we went to Pisa instead. While we were there I walked barefoot in the grass at the Duomo, while he held my shoes. We ate sushi burritos and laughed together. We talked about cartoons we grew up with and he talked about being a kid on a farm. He told me he wanted to give me everything I’d ever dreamed of—the homestead, the babies, the school (but to start as a summer camp). My heart felt safe.

Stefano reminded me that he was non-monogamous in February. I think it was jarring for me because i wasn’t sure that I was aware of it. Maybe I pushed it out of my head cause the experience was so beautiful, respectful, healing, romantic. I grappled with it because I wasn’t entirely sure that I was okay with that dynamic and it was all still just theoretical.

Our last trip together was to Sevilla. I went separately for work and missed him, but I felt secure in our relationship. I didn’t need to talk to him every day. I hung out with my coworkers and enjoyed the adventure of being in Spain. Stefano met me there, and we explored the city. He was underwhelmed, and I wanted to create the same experience for him that he’d created for me in Milan and Lecco, but I failed. We argued a lot that weekend, and I told him I just wanted to go home. I’m not sure if I was clear that “home” was Lecco, not Atlanta. We returned to Milan and fell back into our routine, but something had changed. The fear had crept back in. the doubts about love being real crept back in, but I still felt very settled in with him.

Between polyamory and the distance, I wasn’t sure what our future looked like anymore. I didn’t want to have children in that sort of dynamic. Other things felt different. He felt distant. This didn’t feel like the same man who said he wanted to give me everything I’d ever wanted. When it was time to go home, I didn’t cry, but I hugged and kissed him, saying I’d see him soon. I wasn’t ready to give up, but i wasn’t sure what it looked like.

Reset to forget

Back in Atlanta, I reflected on the life I wanted and realized that what he was offering wasn’t enough. To have everything I dreamed of but to share him with another woman wasn’t something I could handle. That would be settling for me. After weeks of deliberation, I ended the relationship and sobbed. I found comfort in a poem by St. Catherine of Siena called This Place of Abundance. The line that stuck with me was, “I cannot lose anything in this place of abundance I found. If something my heart cherishes is taken away, I just say, ‘Lord, what happened?’ And a hundred more appear.” I repeated that to myself as I grieved the loss of the relationship. I still talked to him pretty regularly, because it was my habit, but the interactions were strange. I told him I was okay with the choice of ending things because God had something else for me, to which he said ” Fuck you, Stephanie” and I guess i deserved it. I grieved and cried ugly cries, but i tried to leave him alone, and i tried to take stock of the ways I contributed to the relationship ending and i was going to focus on myself.

I was still resolved to move to Italy, because it wasn’t really about him. It was about creating a new life for myself. It was about learning a new language and embarking on a new challenge, and I was still resolved to do it. I made a plan for what falling in love with myself would look like.

When I returned to Milan in the spring, Stefano and I got dinner. I dressed up, wore heels and a red dress my sister gave me. We ate, talked, and it felt good to see him. I kissed him goodbye. I asked if I could keep my bags at his place while I traveled around. We saw each other again and I dropped off my bags. Before I left for my adventures on the islands. A voice inside me said to leave him alone, and I told myself I had, that I was moving on. But deep down, I knew I was lying. I was holding out hope that he’d change his mind and we could return to our love cocoon.

I went to Sardinia and saw my schoolgirl crush again. This time, I had enough confidence to actually talk to him. But then I learned he had a girlfriend, and so I let the crush stay what it was—a harmless, fleeting feeling.

Meanwhile, Stefano went to Kenya for the summer to be with the girl he wanted the polyamorous relationship with, and that was the final blow for me. As long as he was still single and other women were just theoretical, I could hold onto hope. But when he got on that plane, I started grieving for real. I knew it was time to let go.

Water under the bridge

I tried to get over Stefano by getting under someone else, but my heart wasn’t having it. No one was appealing. There was one guy from Germany, British with an Italian father, but I thought he might be a catfish, so I stopped talking to him. I tried talking to someone else, but it didn’t feel right either. So, I resolved to grieve and move on—no dating, just feeling, processing, and coming to terms with everything. That’s how I spent my time in Spain—crying, praying, and looking forward to something new.

I saw Stefano one last time in August before I left Europe. I gathered all the things I’d left at his place, and he asked if I wanted ice cream. I said no. He offered to drive me back to my Airbnb, and I accepted. In the car, he caressed my arm, and every fiber of my being wanted to cave. Every cell in my body still wanted to be with him, but my mind knew I needed more than half-baked promises and setups for a broken heart. I told him he was giving me mixed signals and I didn’t like it.

We had dinner together and caught up on our summer experiences. He told me stories about work, and we laughed. I remembered why I fell in love with him in the first place—his handsome face, his bright and welcoming eyes, and his warm smile. He didn’t smell like cigarette smoke that day, so maybe he’d quit again. I hugged him tight, knowing it would be the last time. I kissed his lips softly, wanting to remember how they felt against mine, and I said goodbye—for real this time.

I asked him a series of questions because i really wanted to understand the why behind his choices. What was the benefit, what do you get from it, has it yielded the results that you wanted. But he was sure that was where he wanted to be, and i cried as I accepted it.

An end to begin again

I texted him when I landed in the States to let him know I was safe, then I blocked him. I knew if I didn’t, I wouldn’t break the habit of loving him, of needing his gaze of admiration. I wouldn’t break the habit of talking to him, of hoping for a future together. If i didn’t block him, I wouldn’t break the habit of looking for messages that were never coming. I wouldn’t break the habit of wanting to care for him. I wouldn’t break the habit of desiring his touch. I recalled a conversation where he said he picked me because I could do anything, and I cried. I was loved in this space, but love wasn’t enough to maintain it. Then I resolved to heal from the trauma of not being loved properly in the past, and the trauma of being loved properly in the wrong environment.

I went about six weeks without talking to him, and it was enough to break the habit. I unblocked him after having a dream about him. I checked on him, but we haven’t really talked since.

While it ended in heartbreak, it also opened up my heart in ways I can’t even begin to explain. It was so traumatizing and so healing, so painful and so restorative. I felt like the victim, and the villain, and the hero. I thrived and I suffered. I lived, I loved, and I’m grateful for that summer of mountains, lemonade, and love-making. I’m grateful I got to know him and love him. I grateful I got to see myself in a new light through his eyes. I’m grateful I feel in love with me.