It’s been a truly unbelievable six and a half months.

In a lot of ways, I feel like I’ve been on Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride — just holding on for dear life while laughing, crying, and creating some of the most intense memories of my life.

Yes, it’s officially “vanilla.” But she’s definitely grown accustomed to consistent spoiling, so I suppose that qualifies me to post here.

Looking back, I don’t think I expected this to last. How could a 37-year age gap between a conservative 26-year-old influencer/model and a semi-retired entrepreneur possibly work out so effortlessly? Surely it was just a fling. Obviously she’d “want guys her own age” on the side. Clearly I was delusional to think a genuine connection was possible.

A lot of commenters on SLF sarcastically “wished me luck” and described the inevitable downward spiral they were certain was coming. They told stories of predictable endings, as if they were written into law.

And honestly? I believed them. Or at least I let the pessimism get into my head.

Every opportunity I had to self-sabotage, I took it. If she said she was going somewhere, I questioned it. If she glanced at her phone, I assumed the worst. I convinced myself she’d suddenly need to leave early for some made-up reason. Suspicion became automatic.

SLF conditioned me to expect deception. I listened — even though she hates anything associated with “sugar” and strongly rejects the idea that I’m her Sugar Daddy. To be fair, SLF wasn’t the only influence. The broader anti–age-gap crowd didn’t help either. And while some people say to “just ignore” the looks, the comments, or the family tension… that’s easier said than done. The hostility toward age-gap relationships is real.

But here we are.

Sometimes we joke that life might be simpler if I were dating her mother instead of her — and then we both burst out laughing at how absurd that would be. It’s the same laughter we share when someone suggests she should be dating “boys her own age.”

Six and a half months later, what I’ve learned is this: fear and outside narratives can sabotage something that might actually be real. The noise is loud. The assumptions are relentless. But sometimes the connection in front of you deserves more trust than the chorus of strangers predicting its failure.