It's still strange to think that I lived a completely different life at one point. Like, you just wake up one day after a pretty bad head injury, and suddenly you remember spending damn near 50 years living with different people. Talk about a mind fuck. But anyway, let's get this show on the road.
In my past life, I was born June 22nd, 1975, to my parents Josie and Adrian Rogers. I grew up in a small town in South Dakota. It was your standard life — make friends, go to class, drink, try not to get into trouble. After high school, I just wanted more. Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed the small-town vibe, but eventually, you just need more — and that place wasn't cutting it for me. So I applied to college in New York. Surprisingly, it went well. I got accepted, and there went four more years.
After that, I landed a decent job and thought I'd made it. But I still had that feeling — the one that creeps in and whispers that you're stuck. So, like any moronic new graduate, I quit my job. Yeah, I know, not the brightest move. But I couldn't stand the feeling. I decided I wanted to run my own business. I talked with a friend, and we opened a consulting firm in early 2000. Honestly, it went really well — for a while. But, as I'm sure you all know, 2008 was a hell of a year. That whole mess wrecked us. We had to shut everything down in 2009. There was just no saving it.
Luckily, I'd saved a good chunk of money by then, so I decided to travel for a while.
That's when I met the mother of my children. I was sitting on a beach in the Caribbean, and what do I see? This absolutely stunning woman sitting on a towel, reading a book. And I mean stunning. Dark brown hair, perfect eyebrows, high cheekbones, full lips — and then those eyes. Green, piercing, unforgettable. When we made eye contact, I was already a goner.
So I did what any guy does... I didn't go talk to her. Yeah, I know — I was a little bitch. Sue me. I was nervous, and I bet you bastards would've been too. Anyway, I'm rambling. She ended up leaving with — as I later found out — her father. I was so pissed at myself for not going over there. I went back to my room, showered, got dressed, and headed to the bar to drink the regret away.
I don't know if it was fate or dumb luck, but there she was — sitting at the bar with the same man from before. And damn, she looked incredible in this red cocktail dress. I knew I had to talk to her. But first, liquid courage. One shot. Then another. Then two more. I hyped myself up and finally walked over.
Now, let me be clear — I'd only dated, like, three women before this. It wasn't that I wasn't interested; I was just always busy. Running a business and working 60-hour weeks doesn't leave a lot of room for dating. By the weekend, I was too wiped out to do anything. So, yeah — not a lot of experience.
I walked up and blurted out, "Hi, my name is Ashton. Can I buy you a drink?" Real original, I know. My brain just short-circuited. But to my surprise, she smiled and said yes. Her name was Rose. The older guy — her dad — gave me a look like I was scum. She told him she'd catch up with him later, and he walked off.
So now I'm sitting at a table with, in my opinion, the most beautiful woman I'd ever met. We made small talk — family, life, random stories. It felt easy. Natural. That nervous energy I had melted away. We talked for like two hours. Then she said she had to meet her father. I was crushed. I didn't want it to end. So, I asked if she'd want to get dinner the next day. And to my shock — she said yes.
The next day, we had dinner. She told me she was leaving in the morning, so we exchanged info and made the most of our evening. Oh — and her family also lived in New York. Total win.
Three days later, I called her. We met for coffee. Then again. And again. For about two weeks, we met up as often as we could. It was amazing. We started dating, and that turned into three incredible years together.
Side note: after my first business disaster, I decided I wasn't doing that again. I didn't need to. I had made plenty of money and had a great financial advisor. So I just... lived. Didn't spend like crazy — small-town habits stick with you — and enjoyed life.
After three years, we moved in together. Things were just good. I planned out this elaborate proposal — had the ring and everything. Then, out of nowhere, she tells me she's pregnant. I was stunned. So, I did what felt right: I proposed right there in the kitchen while we were making dinner. Romantic, huh?
Six months later, we got married. It was a whirlwind of planning and chaos, but we pulled it off. Three months after that, our daughter was born — Cleo Elizabeth Rogers. She was everything — bright, adventurous, kind. Two years later, we had our second daughter, Ava Lilian Rogers.
We spent three more happy years together as a family. But every good story's gotta have its tragedy, right?
August 2019, I got a call from an old colleague. He wanted to catch up, have a boys' weekend. I told my wife — and she said she had a bad feeling. But I went anyway. Booked a flight to Washington for the 22nd. Got there fine. Weekend was great — old friends, lots of laughs.
The flight back? That's where things went wrong. I should mention it was a private jet. Somewhere mid-flight, we hit a bird. The engine caught fire. And, if you haven't figured it out yet — we crashed.