Chapter 2 - I Did Not Leave America Planning to Be Gone Four Years
Lucy and I had been married five years when I accepted the Canada job.
I was thirty-two.
She was twenty-eight.
We lived outside Columbus in a small townhouse with:
a mortgage we could manage,
two used cars,
one dog,
and enough student-loan debt that every large purchase still required a spreadsheet.
I worked as an industrial electrical supervisor.
Lucy coordinated vendor contracts for a regional furniture manufacturer.
We were not wealthy.
We were doing well.
Then I was offered eighteen months on a major hydroelectric modernization project in British Columbia.
Base pay:
$148,000 U.S. equivalent.
Housing provided.
Travel allowance.
Completion bonus:
$85,000.
Nearly twice what I was making in Ohio.
Lucy looked at the offer.
Then at me.
“That’s a lot of money.”
“Yes.”
“I hate it.”
“Me too.”
We spent three weeks deciding.
Our plan was simple:
I go.
Lucy visits every six to eight weeks.
I fly home during scheduled breaks.
We pay down:
student loans,
mortgage principal,
her car.
Then I come home.
Eighteen months.
Lucy said:
“We can do eighteen months.”
So did I.
The first year was hard.
Not tragic.
Hard.
Video calls.
Airport reunions.
Sex in hotel rooms.
Arguments about whose schedule mattered more.
Then excitement when bank balances improved.
We paid off:
$61,000
in combined student debt.
Built:
an emergency fund.
Started discussing:
a larger house.
Children.
At fourteen months, the project fell behind.
The general contractor offered me an extension.
Nine additional months.
Another:
completion incentive.
I called Lucy.
She went quiet.
“How long?”
“Nine months.”
“You said eighteen.”
“I know.”
“Do you want to stay?”
I answered too quickly.
“It makes sense.”
That was not what she asked.
She noticed.
We fought.
Then compromised.
Six months.
Not nine.
The money would let us put down twenty percent on:
a house.
I signed.
Then a safety dispute changed everything.
Several subcontractors raised concerns about temporary power systems on one phase of the project.
I backed:
them.
The contractor accused our team of delaying schedule.
Meetings became hostile.
Then my position was terminated eight weeks before the extended contract ended.
The company withheld:
completion bonus,
retention compensation,
several reimbursement claims.
My Canadian attorney said:
“You have a strong wrongful-dismissal case.”
I should have come home.
Instead I stayed.
Not full-time at the original site.
I took another temporary role in Vancouver while pursuing the claim.
Why?
Pride.
Anger.
Money.
I wanted the story to end:
Nathan was right.
Nathan got paid.
Nathan did not waste two years.
Lucy asked:
“How long will this take?”
My attorney estimated:
six months.
It took:
twenty-two.
By the time I came home, the settlement agreement had a gross value slightly above:
$1.04 million
including:
lost compensation,
contractual bonuses,
damages,
interest,
and resolution of related employment claims.
It was not a million-dollar lottery ticket.
Taxes and legal fees would take a large portion.
Still life-changing.
I had won.
That was the word I used when I called my mother from the attorney’s office.
“We settled.”
Theresa shouted with happiness.
Lucy did not answer when I called her.
My mother said:
“She’s sleeping.”
Two days later, I flew home.
May you like
And discovered how much I had lost while insisting on winning.
---
