Love Like a Sunset Part I

2007

2007

I'm sitting here in my office, staring at the walls of my new building, "The Calahart," and I can't help but reflect on how life has twisted and turned over the past few years.

Six years of marriage, two beautiful daughters, and now a divorce that shattered everything I thought I knew. It was April 25, 2007, when Sara and I officially ended our relationship. I'd seen it coming, but that didn't make it hurt any less.

Sara and I had built a life together, or so I thought. Chasey and Gracie were our little joys, the bright lights in what had become a dim reality.

I can still remember the laughter echoing through our home, the way they'd run to me after a long day, their faces lighting up as they shouted, "Daddy!" Those memories are bittersweet now. They are beautiful but also a reminder of what was lost.

The divorce felt like a heavy weight pulling me down, a tidal wave crashing over me. I was upset and devastated, yet part of me knew it was the right choice. We had grown apart, lost in our own lives, and the more I tried to fix things, the more we drifted.

The love that had once ignited our relationship had turned into something unrecognizable. It was hard to see the woman I had loved, the one who had stood beside me through so many challenges, now feeling like a stranger.

In those early days post-divorce, I was lost. I threw myself into work, hoping to distract myself from the pain. That's when I teamed up with Scott Everhart, my business partner.

Scott and I shared a vision for real estate, and together, we poured our energy into projects that breathed life back into me.

I can't describe the exhilaration of seeing our first major construction project come to fruition—the Calahart. A $2.7 million building in Loveland, Colorado, symbolized not just a financial investment but a new beginning for me.

Every day on-site, I could feel the excitement bubbling up inside me. The architecture was sleek and modern, and when we finally opened the doors, I felt a sense of pride I hadn't experienced in a long time.

The building wasn't just a piece of property; it represented hope, resilience, and a fresh start. Scott and I worked tirelessly, and seeing our vision take shape was incredibly fulfilling.

But life wasn't just about work. Wrestling was still my first love. I had a storied career in the ring, but it felt different now. The energy, the adrenaline—it was a release from my reality.

On May 11, I faced my longtime friend, Dave, in a steel cage match on SmackDown! We had built a history together, and stepping into that cage felt like stepping back into my old life. The crowd roared, and for a brief moment, I felt whole again. The match ended in a draw; our feet hit the floor simultaneously. It was as if fate was playing games with us, reminding us of how intertwined our lives had become.

But the night didn't end there. Mark Henry made a dramatic return, assaulting me while I was still reeling from the match. I was battered, struggling to recover, but before I could even catch my breath, Adam ran to the ring. He cashed in his Money in the Bank briefcase right in front of me. It felt like the universe was conspiring against me, forcing me into a second title defense when I was already down.

Despite my best efforts to kick out of his two quick pin attempts, Adam pinned me after delivering two spears. Losing the World Heavyweight Championship stung deeply, especially after everything I had just been through.

In the weeks that followed, I took time off to heal—not just physically, but mentally. I had torn my right biceps in that match, but the emotional toll was far greater. The wrestling world continued to spin, and while Mark Henry boasted about his attack, I found solace in the quiet. I needed that time to reassess everything—the divorce, the kids, my career. I thought about my kids every day. They were my motivation, my drive to be better, to find strength even in vulnerability.

During my rehabilitation, I focused on the future. I started watching the vignettes promoting my return, feeling that familiar spark ignite inside me. It was a reminder that I wasn't done yet. I had battles left to fight, not just in the ring, but in life.

When I finally returned at Unforgiven on September 16, I felt the roar of the crowd wash over me like a wave of adrenaline. It was electric. I had trained hard, and pushed through the pain, and here I was, ready to reclaim my place. Facing Mark Henry again felt like a culmination of everything I had fought through.

The match was intense; every moment was charged with energy, and with each slam, I could feel the weight of my struggles lifting.

Defeating Mark Henry felt monumental. I wasn't just reclaiming a title; I was reclaiming my identity. I had fought through the wreckage of my personal life and emerged on the other side, stronger and more determined. I knew I would always carry the scars of my divorce and the pain of losing my championship, but I was ready to face whatever came next.

As I left the ring that night, the cheers of the crowd still echoing in my ears, I realized something profound. Life was a series of matches, each with its ups and downs. I had fought through my share of battles, but it was the love for my daughters that fueled me most. They were my champions. Every day, I wake up for them, to be a better father, a better man.

The journey ahead was uncertain. I still had to navigate co-parenting with Sara, figuring out how to blend our lives in a way that put our daughters first. But I also had new goals in my business with Scott, more projects lined up that promised to challenge and inspire me.

In the end, the road is long and winding, and though I may stumble along the way, I know I'll keep getting back up. For my children, for myself, and for the dreams that refuse to die. This is just the beginning, and I'm ready to embrace whatever comes next.