What began as a love story with a Colombian man became a love affair with an entire country. I went there without him. Now I dream about the day we go together.

I had an Adventure Book inspired by Up, full of places and moments worth remembering. Then I married a man who called me his greatest adventure, and suddenly there were new pages to fill.

I love the Chicago Bears. He loves América de Cali. We married before we understood each other's football, and we're still learning the rules of two games neither of us takes remotely lightly.

I went to Colombia knowing Adan. I came home knowing Fabricio, the name his family has always called him. Somewhere between those two names, I'd found a family and a second home.

I worked from a laptop balanced on a plastic bowl and guarded five homemade arepas like jewels. Colombia had given me emeralds, but my mother-in-law was sending home something even more precious.

In Saldaña, I stood on the land where Adan dreams of building his mother a home, then followed a path to the river. Suddenly, I understood why he needed me to see it.

On the road to Saldaña, I cried for the family I'd just left, began discovering the world that made my husband, and desperately needed a pharmacist to stop flirting with my mother-in-law.

I climbed into the clouds above Bogotá, got emotional over egg-and-milk soup, made a wish for my husband, and somehow ended up shopping for emeralds. All before noon on my first day in Colombia.

For months, his family had lived inside our phone. Then I landed in Bogotá and found them waiting behind airport glass. When the doors opened, they didn't meet a stranger. They welcomed a daughter.

We married forty-six days after we met, despite barely speaking the same language. Seven weeks later, I boarded a plane to Colombia alone, carrying an enormous suitcase and a little piece of him.