In my late 40s, after more than two decades of marriage, Jake and I found ourselves at a crossroads. Life had changed in ways we hadn’t fully prepared for. With our children grown and off building their own lives, the house was quieter than it had ever been. The constant demands of parenting were behind us, and the routines that had once kept us so busy were now replaced by stillness. At first, it was nice—a sense of calm after years of chaos—but over time, it left us feeling… stuck.

One chilly evening, as rain tapped gently against the windows, Jake lit a fire in the living room. We settled into our usual spots on the couch, sipping tea, the warm glow of the flames dancing between us. The conversation started as it often did, reflecting on how proud we were of the lives we had built together. But soon, it drifted into something deeper.

“I feel like we’ve been coasting,” I admitted, hesitant but needing to say the words. “I love you, Jake, but I miss the excitement we used to have.”

He looked at me thoughtfully, then nodded. “I feel it too,” he said. “It’s not about loving each other any less—it’s about wanting more for ourselves.”

That night, we explored a bold idea that had been simmering in the back of our minds: an open marriage. It wasn’t about filling a void or fixing something broken. It was about growth, adventure, and rediscovering ourselves—not apart, but together.