Kelsey stayed with us for three months.

She slept in the spare room. She cut the boys' hair. She cried a lot at first, and then less, and then hardly at all.

She deleted the yacht photos from her Instagram. All of them. Then she posted one honest video, talking straight into the camera, about what had happened.

I thought being loved meant being spoiled, she said. I thought a big ring meant a big heart. I was wrong. And the man I made fun of for six months turned out to be the one who was protecting me.

It got more views than the proposal video.

One evening, she came into the kitchen while Dan was doing the bills at the table.

“Dan,” she said. “Would you teach me how to do that?”

“Do what?”

“Money. Budgets. How to tell when something's too good to be true.”

Dan put down his pen. He pulled out the chair next to him.

“Rule number one,” he said. “If someone guarantees you twenty percent a year, run.” “What's rule number two?”

“If someone spends a lot of time telling you how rich they are,” said Dan, “ask yourself why they need you to believe it so badly.”

Kelsey wrote both rules down on the back of an envelope.

She still has it, on her fridge.