Soo it's been a few years since I've written anything. Actually that's a lie, I've written a lot in the last few years, it's just been awhile since I've posted anything on here. But I'm back (for now), and I have another story. And of course, for anyone who has read any of the stories I've posted, it's a Mickie/Randy story. Is the Mickie James/Randy Orton thing over and done with these days? If it is, I didn't get the memo and I still like writing them because I think they are absolutely adorable to write about. I feel like the more the years go on, the more self conscious I've gotten about my writing, but that wasn't going to stop me from posting this one since I've put a lot of effort into it. I'll be honest, I don't pay much attention to the WWE these days outside of Total Divas, when I attend the live shows when they're in my area, and my friend who likes to keep me updated any time we chat on the phone, so bear with me, I'm kind of behind on the WWE these days in the sense I don't know every little detail, just the major stuff.

Anyway, I'll shut up now and post the prologue, and to anyone who reads this (if any of you actually do) and ends up liking it, please let me know and I'll continue updating it.

As always, I own nothing, not one single person/character in this story, it is purely for my own entertainment. :)

Moving on.

Is it really as easy as everyone makes it out to be? How do you move on from something you gave nearly a decade of your life to? People have been quick in telling me to let it go, that I'm better off now than I was before, that I have a chance to start fresh and be happy again. But if I've learned anything, it's that it's a hell of a lot easier to give advice, than to follow it.

When I was a young girl of about eight years old, I went through this phase where I spent every free moment when I wasn't outside riding, planning my dream wedding. I'd cut up magazines, newspaper articles and paste them in this thick scrapbook I'd been given as a birthday present. Even to this day I knew that if I sifted through the contents of the boxes in my storage space back at home, I'd be able to find that book somewhere.

I always envisioned a beautiful summer outdoor wedding in the field back on my childhood farm, with thousands of flowers, a princess wedding gown, the support of my family but most importantly a handsome groom I was going to be insanely in love with. That was the dream. And for years I believed in the idea of marriage – that it was a beautiful thing two people undertook to prove their utmost love for one another.

But then I grew up, and reality hit hard when my parents divorced while I was a junior in high school. That was a rough time for me. Everything I'd been sure about, shattered right before my eyes and for a long time I struggled with relationships, well into my adult years. I didn't think my faith in love and marriage could ever be restored even though I was always encouraging my younger sisters not to give up hope.

And then he came along when I was twenty six years old. Handsome, charming, kind-hearted, a real pain in the ass and a thorn in my side. And for the first time in my life I found myself head over heels, completely and totally in love, even if everyone else thought I was insane. As it turns out my high expectations hadn't been crushed, they'd just been buried by the weight of my parents' divorce and needed someone willing to coax them out again. It was completely beyond anything I could have envisioned as an eight year old, so much to the point it quite honestly scared the hell out of me. My heart, my trust, my faith – in the hands of another human being? You can't tell me that wouldn't scare the hell out of you too. But despite my reservations about taking that venture, I said yes when he proposed, we had a wedding more beautiful than anything I could have glued into that scrapbook, and not once did I look back.

At least that is until now. Now that I'd experienced eight years in a committed relationship, six and a half of which were married years, I couldn't help but wish I could go back in time and shake that little eight year old girl. Tell her of the dangers of high expectations, and inform her that the world is a cruel, unforgiving place and that things don't always work out for us. Perhaps if that were possible, I'd be able to save myself some of the pain I was feeling from those very same high expectations I'd formed when I was that young girl. Because I bet when she was planning every last detail of that perfect fairytale wedding that was going to be the beginning of a beautiful love story, she didn't once expect that she… we, would end up divorced.

Some 'till death do us part' that turned out to be.

Don't get me wrong, this experience hasn't jaded me. I still believe in the idea and the beauty of love. I still believe in the love that I have felt the better part of the last decade. But love doesn't make everything simple, and I wish that that was something they warned you about. But then, I guess, isn't that sort of the point? To forge our own paths and experiences?

I suppose I should go back to the tail end of 2005 and start at the beginning, and highlight all the significant moments of our relationship. Only then can you possibly understand my story, or rather our story, and the magnitude of our decisions that have impacted us up until this very moment – even ten years later.