Prologue: The Girl Who Waited

If you met me today, you'd probably never guess where my story began.

You'd see a woman who loves animals more than anything, spends way too much time in her garden, chases sunsets with a camera in her hand, and still lights up every time someone mentions Star Wars. You might notice the scar running across my neck, the reminder of surgeries that changed my life, but scars only tell you where you've been. They never tell you who carried you through them.

People often ask me how I've stayed so positive after everything that's happened.

The truth is...

I don't think my story is about the bad things that happened to me.

I think it's about the people who refused to let those things define me.

Long before hospitals, heartbreak, and more moving boxes than I can count, there was a little girl growing up in a tiny town tucked into the rolling Palouse hills of Eastern Washington.

She lived in an old house across from a church where the floors creaked at night and everyone joked a little old lady still wandered the halls. She believed every word of it.

She spent her days climbing trees, hand-feeding squirrels, riding her giant Komondor dog, Bela, like he was a horse, and searching for four-leaf clovers in the yard. She believed mermaids were real after visiting Weeki Wachee, waited all year to look for Santa's reindeer tracks in the snow, and thought the world was a place full of adventure.

That little girl had no idea how much her life was about to change.

She didn't know she'd spend years searching for pieces of herself.

She didn't know she'd live in more states than she could have ever imagined, stand on the shores of Alaska watching moose wander by, survive relationships that would leave invisible scars, or one day search for the biological father she'd wondered about her entire life.

She didn't know she'd eventually find him.

Or that she'd discover they shared the same smile, the same stubborn streak, the same goofy sense of humor, and the same love of food.

She didn't know she'd meet the man who would become her husband after one of the darkest nights of her life.

She didn't know she'd one day say "I do" in a Star Wars wedding, surrounded by people who loved her exactly as she was.

She didn't know she'd survive surgeries that would test every ounce of her strength.

Most of all...

She didn't know how many times she'd have to start over.

Looking back now, I realize my life has never really been about the places I've lived or even the hardships I've survived.

It's been about the people who chose to love me.

The grandparents who stepped in when they didn't have to and became the only parents I ever truly knew.

The friends who stood beside me when I felt completely alone.

The teachers who protected me.

The husband who answered the phone on the worst night of my life and never stopped showing up after that.

The father I found after decades of wondering if I'd ever know him.

Even the animals that somehow always seemed to find me when I needed them most.

For every chapter filled with heartbreak, there was another filled with laughter.

There were Christmas mornings with reindeer tracks in the snow.

Road trips singing The Beatles at the top of our lungs.

Band bus rides fueled by Starbucks and pints of ice cream.

A shirt that accidentally read "Traditi" and somehow became one of the funniest inside jokes my grandma and I ever shared.

A little girl sitting on a slide, howling at the sky after losing the dog she loved more than words could ever explain.

Those moments may seem small.

But they're the ones that built me.

This isn't a story about having a perfect life.

It's about finding joy in ordinary days, holding on through impossible ones, and discovering that home isn't always where you're born.

Sometimes...

Home is the people who choose you.

So before you meet the woman writing these pages...

I'd like you to meet the little girl she used to be.

Because every scar has a story.

And every story has a beginning.

This is mine.