Alyssa & Theo

Here's our journey from start to—well, never finished, but to where we are today. If you're reading this on a computer screen, continue onto each next chapter by clicking the arrow on the right side of the page (it's hard to detect; look just under the transparent yellow flower on the right) or by selecting the next circular thumbnail in the lineup at the top of the page. If you're reading this on the app, just keep clicking to the next thumbnail (it follows chronologically left to right on each line — with two per line), and when you're done reading each chapter, click the X in the top right corner to go back to the story section and click the next chapter (aka - thumbnail).

We so appreciate you seeing us and wanting to know our journey!

ENJOY!

It's the oldest story in the [modern-day] book.

Boy meets girl — online.

NOPE. Not like that.

There were no dating apps involved. No one slid into anyone's DMs or stumbled upon a “thirst trap” photo on a mutual friend’s wall and thought, well, hello there. There were no singles forums and no chat rooms for partnerless hopefuls "seeking a connection." None of the usual suspects.

So scratch that — maybe it's not the oldest story in the book after all.

Because Alyssa and Theo…(wait for it)…met on a Zoom call.

But hold on, it gets even more romantic than that.

The meeting was entirely about cryptocurrency.

(Cue the songbirds.)

So how exactly does a group of crypto geeks rattling on about blockchains and dApps from their squeaky desk chairs, collectively dreaming of going "to the moon" with their group investment in a crypto hedge fund, eventually lead us here? Pondering wedding outfits and room blocks and hoping the DJ doesn't play the Cha Cha Slide? (Spoiler: he won't. He's great.)

Well, friends — tuck in. It's a nearly five-year story.

Just kidding. We’ll summarize. Er, we'll try to summarize. You have enough reading ahead of you on this site (which, by the way, Alyssa would really appreciate it if you did, so she doesn't have to field 2,369 questions that are already answered here. But don't tell her we told you that.)

Actually, someone did think, well, hello there, on that pivotal call that day. It just wasn't followed by a DM, or a “hook us up” nudge to a mutual friend, or any follow-up whatsoever.

It was Theo. Theo thought it. And Theo refrained from any follow-up.

Here's what happened:

The Sunday night hedge fund meeting was led by two group leaders, cameras and mics mostly off throughout. Then came time for questions and comments.

Naturally, Alyssa had questions and comments.

On went her camera. On went her mic. And she launched — excitedly, passionately — into her vision of the future: all of them, one day, living as neighbors in sprawling houses right on the edge of Lake Tahoe, just as soon as their fund went "parabolic."

Cue Theo's well, hello there. He made a mental note: cute girl who’s into crypto and lake living, is super upbeat and bubbly, could be future wife.

And that was the gist of it. Their kinda-sorta “meet cute” minus the “meet” part. Theo’s camera or mic never went on. Alyssa had landed on Theo’s radar (with a loud thud), but for Alyssa, Theo simply did not exist yet. Not for some time after.

Fast forward a couple of months — don't worry, you didn’t miss anything. Er well, just a world pandemic — no big deal. But literally a whole lotta sitting around doing a whole lotta nothing.

After one too many continuous days of bad attempts at sourdough, doomscrolling, and Zoom sing-alongs with old camp friends in her pajamas at 2pm, Alyssa packed a bag and left her New Jersey beach town for Phoenix — to stay with her sister, see the one friend she had there, and wait out whatever the hell was happening to the world.

One afternoon, she and that Phoenix friend were hanging out poolside, sipping watermelon margaritas, and catching one another up on the latest season of their lives, when the friend slipped inside to take a FaceTime call with a business associate. Their voices drifted faintly from the house while Alyssa swung on a hammock, soaking up the sweet desert heat and contemplating a second marg.

"Oh crap, it's 3 o'clock — I have another meeting!" the friend shrieked from within the kitchen.

Then she came rushing back out, shoved the phone into Alyssa's hands, and demanded: "Here. Chat with my friend, Theo. I gotta go!”

Alyssa brought the phone up to her face, flustered and perplexed, and stammered: "Uhhh — hello? Whooo is this??"

However flustered Alyssa was, Theo was a hundred times that.

Because it was the girl — that girl. He'd thought about her since she'd appeared in a little square on his screen months before. He'd thought about reaching out. He'd thought about Lake Tahoe, and strolling through farmers' markets hand-in-hand, and geeking out about crypto together. All just thoughts, until this moment.

To this day, no one knows why the friend handed Theo off to a stranger instead of simply saying goodbye. Not even the friend. She just shrugs and says, "I dunno — that's just what I thought to do."

Fate. Wearing a sundress. By a pool. In Phoenix.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

So — clearly, they hit it off. (I mean, we're here, right?)

Now, a small but important detail worth backing up for:

The mutual friend who so unceremoniously shoved that phone into Alyssa's hands? She was also one of the two leaders of that Sunday night crypto call. Which means Theo wasn't some random stranger on the other end of that FaceTime — he was someone she'd brought on to freelance for a separate crypto project she was running. Small world. Smaller than a Zoom grid, even.

So when Theo mentioned, somewhere in that first bewildered ten minutes of conversation, that he recognized Alyssa from the fund meeting, she found it interesting, mostly because she had zero memory of him. (He left out the part about the mental note. And the Lake Tahoe daydream. And the future wife thing. Smart man.)

They exchanged numbers as potential colleagues — Alyssa was considering jumping onto the same freelance project — and left it at that.

Or so she thought.

What followed was a FaceTime a day. Sometimes two. Each one running a half hour, an hour, longer. They made each other laugh. They got each other's idiosyncratic references and dry jokes. They had the same taste in everything that mattered and clashed in all the ways that turned out to be interesting — Alyssa loud and wired and all-in, Theo laidback, measured, a little quieter, a little harder to read. Yin, meet yang.

And then, about a week in, Theo floated an idea.

A wild idea. Impractical, ballsy even. (Apparently, knowing her was already changing him for the better.)

See, he'd been tapped to attend a crypto conference in Miami — officially for the startup, unofficially for a good time. The conference was called, and we are not making this up, Shitcoin Conference 2020. And he wanted Alyssa to come.

He didn’t just ask. He campaigned. He made his case over multiple calls, video chats, texts, and emails across multiple days, dismantling her objections one by one like a very charming attorney. It was Covid. She wasn't working (in the regular sense anyway — anything she needed to tend to, she could do so quickly from a laptop). Flights were cheap. She had the means. He had the accommodations, the tickets, the VIP access to the open bar, a built-in excuse to be there — it could even be a tax write-off, for crying out loud.

Each call, her "no" got a little softer. A little less convincing. Mostly to herself.
But before she said yes, she had one condition.

See, Alyssa's love language is play. Fun. Whimsy. Silliness. The kind of childlike, full-body laugh that makes you snort. And she needed to know if this guy had it in him. So she told him:

"OK, fine. But our first night out, we're wearing onesies. Silly animal onesies. I pick. What's your size?"

He paused a few seconds to process the strange request, and then a resounding: "YOU'RE ON."

The next day, a lemur onesie in size large arrived at his door in Nashville. Alyssa packed a green dinosaur one into her suitcase — already half-packed, since this was essentially a vacation within a vacation — and headed to Phoenix Sky Harbor, bound for Miami, stomach and heart done things they hadn't done in a while.

Neither of them could tell you what the in-flight movie was or if they sat next to someone. All they felt and thought about was their rattling nerves. The good kind. The kind that means something big is coming.

At baggage claim, she spotted him first — sauntering toward her from across the terminal. And when he got close enough, she giggled and squealed, "It's you! Hi!" — because what else do you say?

He scooped her up. Hugged her tight. Gave her a hard smooch on the cheek, then the forehead.

And then, before either of them had a chance to be awkward about it, Alyssa turned around, pressed her back into him, held up her phone, and took a picture, because something inside told her she’d want that later. A snapshot of the first seconds. The first real hello. The first kiss — sort of — right there in the airport, two people who'd secretly, quickly, completely fallen for each other over FaceTime, about to walk into the most absurd first date imaginable.

A crypto conference. In Miami. In onesies.

Romance doesn’t always look the same for everyone. Sometimes it shows up in a lemur costume.

And Miami? Miami delivered.

It felt less like a city and more like a stage — like some unseen director had dressed the whole set just for them. The conference by day was a full-on playground: blockchain toys and tech demos at every booth, late-night dance parties that somehow made the crypto nerd world feel cool, VR adventures through digital jungles, new foods around every corner, zipping through town side-by-side on scooters, and one time even popping into a prom boutique to try on snazzy attire and pretend they were going to prom together. Their first real dinner date was at a “creative cuisine” food truck, eating what can only be described as the most transcendently scrumptious, but most structurally unsound sandwiches either of them had ever attempted to shove in their mouths — zero grace, a total sloppy, silly mess, absolutely perfect.

When tech talk and futurism got a bit much, they'd slip away to the beach to just feel human again. No blockchain. No buzzwords. Just warm, blue water and cool, dry sand and the comfortable ease between two people who are starting to feel like home to each other.

But the onesie night. Oh, the onesie night.

They ducked out of the conference early (don't tell their former sponsors) raced back to the hotel, and wrestled themselves into a green dinosaur and a lemur with the barely-contained energy of two children on Christmas morning. Alyssa may or may not have also packed a light-up glow wand. (She did.)

No plans. No destination. Just: let's see where the night takes us.

And the night was prepared.

At the very start, they stumbled upon a rogue shopping cart just sitting there on the sidewalk, abandoned, waiting — as if the director had written it in on page four. Theo didn't hesitate. He gestured grandly at the cart, "Your chariot, madam." Alyssa, in her dinosaur onesie and glow wand, climbed in without a word of protest. And off they went — a lemur pushing a dinosaur through the streets of Miami at midnight, utterly unhinged, completely at home, ready to take on the town.

The night became a string of perfect, unplannable moments. They lay down together on a lush patch of grass and in the middle of it, a gold star was embedded with a quote that read — "Grow old along with me, the best is yet to be" — and looked at each other and laughed, because obviously. Obviously the director put that there. They made friends with a vegan hot dog vendor who bumped EDM jams from the truck speaker so they could bust a move in a sandy little lot under bistro lights. They shared stories and life experiences on a street curb with a security guard, still on the clock at 7-Eleven, D’andré, who was genuinely delighted by their whimsy and onesies (they actually stayed in touch with him for quite some time after). They struck poses in front of towering, vivid murals Miami is so famous for. They had impromptu dance parties on street corners while cars honked in enthusiastic solidarity. They raided the shelves of the nearest gas station for a midnight snack — a spread of candy and wine, a suspiciously large pickle and greasy chips, which they then demolished on plastic patio furniture outside the hotel like two people who never heard of bedtime.

And then, somewhere in the small hours, when the sugar and the giddiness had softened into something calmer and more tender — Alyssa began to read to him from her journal, at his request.

(Fair warning to the unsentimental cynics and eye-rollers: you may want to skim this next part.)

It was about her late mother. And somewhere in the middle of a particularly beautiful, heartbreaking piece, she looked up — and found Theo quietly wiping a tear from his eye.

That was the moment. Right there. That was when Alyssa decided: this one should stick around.

They stayed up until the morning’s first clips of light splintered through the blinds, talking about everything, laughing until they cried about something else entirely, and slowly, without either of them naming it yet, falling into something that felt a lot like the rest of their lives.

And then, their perfect weekend had the gall to end. (So rude.)

They shuffled drearily through the airport on two hours of sleep — if that — quiet and heavy in the way that has less to do with exhaustion, more so with the looming goodbye.

Alyssa’s boarding call came first. They looked at each other and winced with heartsickness. And then they hugged the way you hug someone you’re not ready to be done with yet but have no idea when you’ll see again — hard, and tight, and too long. Both of them welled up with thick tears as they let go, reluctantly, and turned to walk away towards their gates.

That goodbye didn't stick for long.

By the time their planes had landed, they were already texting. By nightfall, they were on FaceTime. And by the following week, Alyssa was booked on a Southwest flight to Nashville — which, as it turns out, was the secret weapon of their entire summer.

Southwest, bless its flexible little heart, lets you change your return flight anytime, for free, no questions asked. So when a trip to Nashville was winding down and neither of them was ready to say goodbye, Alyssa would simply...not. One call to rebook, and suddenly she had another week. Then another. Stays that were supposed to be a long weekend quietly stretched into two, three weeks at a time. She did this three or four times that summer, and not once did Southwest complain.

She was, it should be noted, uniquely positioned for this kind of romantic spontaneity — no lease to speak of, remote work, plenty of savings, and zero compelling reason to be anywhere in particular. The universe had been setting this up for years, apparently.

Nashville came through. Of course it did. They did it all — distillery tours, escape rooms, live music (c'mon, it's Nashville), festivals, day trips, weekend getaways, yoga workshops, new restaurants (Theo had a mission to show Alyssa all of Nashville's best hot chicken joints), hidden gems, hole-in-the-wall bars with incredible bands, a particularly sweet trip to the famed milkshake place, Legendairy, for National Ice Cream Day. They met each other's friends. They met each other's families. They made new friends everywhere they went, because that's what happens when these two are together — something about their combined energy, playful and warm and wide open, makes people want to pull up a chair.

They endezvoused in Fort Lauderdale, at his family's homes in northern Pennsylvania, and — perhaps most perfectly — he came to her at the Jersey Shore for her birthday weekend. Which, in summer, at the shore, is about as good as birthdays get.

In Atlantic City, they played in the waves, strolled the boardwalk, rode the rides, and hit the casinos (Theo is a gamblin' man), where Alyssa got "bankrolled" by a somewhat famous stranger at the table — one Joe Gatto of Impractical Jokers fame — who then promptly put them on his show's VIP list. Just a normal Tuesday.

They watched dolphins from a boat. Swung in the sky on parasails. Toured local farms. Explored an insect museum with a butterfly park (yes, really, and yes, it was magical). Rode bikes along the coast. Stayed in a rotating cast of charming Airbnbs. Danced — a lot, always — and saw so many concerts and shows, they lost count.

And in between all of it, they were never really apart. Nonstop texts, calls, FaceTimes, DMs, emails, Zoom meetings — now with both cameras very much on.

One summer. That's all it took. They were hooked.

But summers end. And reality, as it does, began clearing its throat.

By the time September rolled around, they were tired. Not of each other — never that — but of everything between them. The airports. The TSA lines. The suitcases. The feeling of watching someone's face on a screen when you want to be watching it across a dinner table.

Theo's lease in Nashville was ending. Something had to give.

The question was where. They both wanted somewhere new — a fresh start, a city that belonged to both of them equally, not a compromise but a choice. The only snag was timing: Alyssa couldn't leave New Jersey until Open Enrollment Period ended in January (her work was in health insurance). So wherever they were going, they'd have to wait.

In the meantime, Theo needed a plan. His job wasn't remote — his CEO was, in his words, old and set in his ways. So Alyssa did what Alyssa does: she coached him. They ran mock conversations, talked strategy, and prepared him to walk into his boss's office and essentially say: I go remote, or I walk.

He took the leap. Marched into that office and said essentially that (but nicer). Twice. After the second time, and some deliberation, they finally gave him the go-ahead.

With that settled, Theo packed his life into storage and moved up to Pennsylvania into a cousin's guest room — close enough to spend weekends together, sometimes whole weeks — while they figured out the next move.

They spent the holidays attached at the hip, bouncing between families, celebrating Christmas and Hanukkah and New Year's, and life in general like the newly minted unit they were.

Florida had been the plan. Warm, beachy, sentimental (Miami, after all). But then Alyssa's sister called with news: she needed to break her Phoenix lease by February — she was moving in with her fiancé — and couldn't afford to eat the security deposit.

And something clicked.

Wait. Why hadn't they thought of Phoenix?

The startup they were both freelancing for? Based in Phoenix. Their two closest mutual friends — the ones who'd inadvertently introduced them — lived in Phoenix. Alyssa's sister was in Phoenix, newly engaged and about to become a stepmother to four kids, and she needed big sis person nearby. A multitude of reasons were pulling her west.

And then there was the factor of travel. Because early on, they discovered how important travel was to them as individuals and now as a couple (a couple with a travel-loving fur-baby, no less. Sage loves the open road). They knew they wanted to settle in a place that didn't just offer them a great place to live, but great places to easily travel to whenever the urge swept in.

And here's the thing about South Florida: you can't just road trip out of it, easy peasy. You drive and drive and drive, and you're still in Florida. But Phoenix? Within one to five hours, you have Sedona, Flagstaff, the Grand Canyon, Las Vegas, San Diego, Joshua Tree, Mexico, Palm Springs, Tombstone, Lake Havasu, Jerome. A rich and wide plethora of completely different worlds, all within reach.

It wasn't even a hard decision once they saw it clearly. Phoenix was obvious. Phoenix was right.

Alyssa called the moving company.

Getting there was, naturally, an adventure.

A blizzard hit. Then another. The moving truck couldn't get through. They waited it out, holed up in PA, living out of suitcases — Theo had been living out of his since September, three months of suitcase life, a man of remarkable patience — until finally a window opened in mid-January and the truck got moving.

They packed Alyssa's car, grabbed their bags, loaded up Sage, and hit the road.

Their first cross-country road trip. The first of many, many more to come.
They signed the lease on a Phoenix townhouse while still somewhere on the highway — toured it over FaceTime, site unseen, and said yes anyway. Because at this point, betting on the unknown was kind of their thing.

They arrived at the end of January. The moving truck came in mid-February. In the meantime, they furnished their home with Facebook Marketplace finds and IKEA runs and whatever treasures they could unearth on OfferUp, and slowly, deliberately, made it theirs.

They'd found a home in each other many long months before. They just finally had the same address to prove it.

Phoenix welcomed them like it had been waiting.

Their townhome sat tucked inside a little community that defied everything people think they know about Arizona — lush and green and shaded, with winding walkways and pools and parks and hiking trails right outside the door. Perfect for them. Perfect for Sage, who, as it turned out, was the greatest social director either of them had ever had. Walk a dog in a neighborhood twice a day, in heat and monsoons and everything in between, and you will meet everyone. And they did. Neighbors became friends. Friends became family. Friends' friends became friends. The circle kept expanding — dog parks, dinner parties, faith gatherings, group meetups, live events — until one day they looked around and realized they were surrounded by a whole community of kindred souls. The kind of people who show up for the big moments and also for a random Wednesday, just because.

They bought an old jalopy of an RV in 2023 — in a town called Surprise, Arizona, which felt about right, since they'd only gone to look and somehow drove home as RV owners. Theo got to work fixing it up. Alyssa got to work making it a home — every gadget, every cozy touch, every not-strictly-necessary-but-absolutely-necessary creature comfort you could want on the open road. Together, the three of them (Sage too, duh) took it all over the map: Jackson Hole, the Grand Tetons, Yellowstone, slicing through Colorado, Utah, Nevada. They drove it back east when they missed their families and couldn't take another Arizona summer, and stayed the whole season. They plan to keep doing exactly that.

Eventually, they outgrew their townhome and found a house — a 3-bedroom very “homey” house on a cul-de-sac (turns out, they are very much cul-de-sac people; IYKYK) just five minutes from their old neighborhood so they didn't have to stray far from their people. They made it home the same way they make everywhere home: immediately, enthusiastically, and with excellent taste.

The years filled up fast and full. Personal growth seminars and workshops, because growing together is one of their favorite things to do. Resin art and candle-making and woodworking and ballroom and Latin dancing, because so is making things. Tough Mudders (brutal) and themed races and volunteer work and physically-challenging endeavors (ask them about their foray into couples acro-yoga — it’s a hoot) and trying everything, at least once. A Google Maps list of 270 (and counting) restaurants and cocktail lounges they are systematically, joyfully working their way through, because they are unapologetically enormous foodies.

They merged families until the word "merger" stopped making sense — because it wasn't a merger, it was just family. Her nieces and nephews call him Uncle Theo. Or “Tío Theo” to one in particular whose first language is Spanish (shout out to Majo!), which they find particularly delightful. He's claimed several of her closest friends as his own — a handful of the guys on his bachelor trip were hers first, which she considers a personal victory. Alyssa will tell you, only half-jokingly, that certain members of her family now like Theo more than they do her. She's made her peace with it. If you know Theo, you know you can’t blame them.

And then there was everything they got to witness and celebrate together — new babies arriving, friends graduating from cadet academy, other friends adopting a child, lifelong dreams being achieved, engagements and weddings, cancer-free announcements, dream jobs landed, goals finally reached. They were surrounded by people doing the hard, beautiful work of building a life — and that circle held them to a higher standard too. Reminded them, again and again, what a celebrated and loving partnership could look like.

When you zoom out, it's been a rich life. Extraordinary, really. Full of peak experiences and deep belly laughs and good food and better people and impromptu dance sessions in random places or their own back yard and road adventures and all the things that make a life feel well-lived.

But it hasn't always been easy. And that's worth saying.

Because real love — the kind that lasts through the dark and the light — isn't just the onesie nights and the road trips and the perfectly planned proposals and other peak moments. It's also the valleys. It’s also the chaos and whirlwinds. It’s the seasons that are hard and hazy, the ones where you don’t know what on earth to do next. The ones nobody puts on a wedding website but that quietly hold everything else together.

They had them too. More than a few.

There was the sharp learning curve of going from vacation mode to real life — from a fun, exhilarating long-distance romance to suddenly sharing a home, a budget, a routine, and every unhealed corner of themselves with another human being. Their conflict resolution styles were, to put it generously, a work in progress. Their communication styles clashed in ways that took real effort, real humility, and real commitment to untangle.

They lost people they loved. Alyssa lost a friend and mentor, far too suddenly, to a car crash. She witnessed the quick health decline of her first stepfather — Dr. Hillard Sharf, who'd helped raise her since she was seven — and loss of him far too early, to Parkinson's Disease. She received news of other loved ones facing serious health battles and other worrisome challenges. They each carried old wounds that the closeness of real partnership has a way of surfacing, whether you're ready or not.

There were job losses and physical injuries and tough, scary, sad seasons that arrived uninvited and stayed longer than welcome.

And what they did with all of it: stay. They soldiered through hard seasons by doing harder work — counseling, individual and couples, relationship books and podcasts and seminars and learning conflict resolution methods and employing the real power of prayer and seeking wise counsel from clergy and having long, raw, honest conversations with friends who had walked this road before them and come out the other side (head nod here to those very first neighbor-friends they met in Phoenix, Michael and Lindsay, who became exactly that kind of compass and counsel for them).

And through all of it, one thing was never actually in question: that they would get through it together. That was an inarguable fact. It just sometimes needed reminding.

The hard times didn't break them. They built them.

Somewhere in all of that living, Theo knew it was time. Which brings us to today. Well almost...

They had talked about it, of course. They'd always talked about it. He'd declared she was the one by the end of their first month together, had said he'd "marry her tomorrow" way back then and meant every word. But turning that feeling into an actual proposal — into a wedding, a real one, the kind they both always wanted — kept getting nudged aside by the next big thing to handle, the next chapter to get through first. Not the right time. Not yet.

Until January 25th, 2025. A Saturday evening. Around 7:30pm.

Theo had a question. Alyssa, in usual fashion, had the answer.

He'd gone to his best friend Matt — as he does for most things that matter — and Matt delivered. The reservation was at Maple & Ash, one of the most celebrated hot spots in the Phoenix-Scottsdale area. The kind of swanky joint where even the servers wear designer suits and the walls are draped in velvet and the florals look like they were designed for a wedding. Dark, sultry, classy, a little decadent. Exactly their kind of place.

Alyssa was already smitten before they'd even ordered. She was mid-gasp, mid-sentence, babbling excitedly about how much she already loved it there, when the server glided over and slid an oversized menu larger than her torso directly in front of her.

"Wow, it's just all so incredi—"

She stopped.

The world stopped.

There, printed across the menu, overlaying the food and beverage choices, in large, unmistakable letters:

MARRY ME, ALYSSA.

Before she could even look up, her vision went blurry. When she finally peered down through wet, blobby tears, Theo was on one knee. Shaky. Teary-eyed. Saying something she wishes she could remember more clearly (it’s fuzzy because she was, as they say, “shook”, understandably), except for the part that mattered most: "I can't imagine my life without you."

That was enough. That was everything.

"Yes. Of course I’ll marry you!!"

The room erupted. Applause, cheers, strangers on their feet. Servers and managers appeared with drinks and shots and seafood towers and desserts, all on the house. People came over to hug them. Strangers offered to take their photo. And two tables down — as if the director were back at it again — a family was celebrating their patriarch and matriarch's 50th wedding anniversary. Fifty years. They shared their champagne and their joy and told Alyssa and Theo they hoped to see them back at that very table someday, celebrating one of their own.

The rest of the evening felt like a party thrown in their honor by the universe. Because, honestly, it kind of was.

Which brings us here. A little over a year later, deep in the throes of wedding planning — equal parts intense and thrilling and surreal.

But back up a second. A full circle moment is called for.

Remember that crypto hedge fund that started everything? Well, sadly, it went belly up. The coin crashed and burned and never recovered. Between the two of them, they lost thousands. An embarrassing amount, really, and we’ll leave it there.

Ouch.

And yet, when you pan out, they didn't lose a thing. They may have lost a boatload of dough but gained each other. A forever love. A best friend. A partner to do life with. And they carry with them everything and everyone they've loved and lost along the way.

So it started with a muted mic on a crypto call, and a few wild, whirlwind years later, ended with a ring. Except it’s really just the beginning….

Turns out the best investment they ever made wasn't in crypto at all.
It was in each other.

Kind of gives a new meaning to the term diamond hands, wouldn’t you say?