How I Met And Married Your Mother

Dear Mila Elena & Bjanka,

"How I Met Your Mother."

Remember that show on TV? Well, my story might be even more awkward! Before I begin, let me just say this: I know what I'm about to tell you sounds a bit crazy, maybe even too strange to believe, but I promise it's all true.

I met your mother...on Facebook.

Yes, I know how it sounds. But before you laugh, let me explain.

Back then, Facebook was still new - a place where people could find new friends, join random groups, and feel part of something bigger. I didn't know many people, so I joined some groups to feel connected. It was a rough time for me. I'd lost 17 teeth in five years due to a condition called internal periodontitis, and, well, my confidence wasn't exactly soaring.

One day, while scrolling through a group discussion with hundreds of comments, I spotted something that stood out. Most people's comments were just noise, but one was different: sharp, insightful, and a little cheeky.

Her username? "The Mischief Girl, Prankster." I know, right?

But it wasn't the name that caught my attention; it was her words. I couldn't help but reply, and to my surprise, she responded immediately.

Her replies were quick, clever, and funnier with every turn. In less than an hour, we'd exchanged dozens of comments. It felt like we were the only two people in that crowd, bantering as if we'd known each other forever. Eventually, I suggested we take our conversation somewhere more private.

And that's how it all began: in a little chat box. For the next four years, that digital world became ours.

Before you ask, yes, I saw her profile pictures, and we shared all the details about our lives. I told her about my missing teeth, and she laughed and said she didn't care. She told me she was a polio survivor and sometimes struggled to walk, but I didn't care about that either.

A couple of months into our chats, we changed our status on Facebook from "friends" to "in a relationship." It felt strange and exciting all at once. We were just two people who'd "met" online, yet every day, we felt closer than ever. Soon, we exchanged phone numbers and talked for hours on end.

But there was one problem: she was in Belgrade, Serbia, and I was in Zagreb, Croatia, two different countries with a history of war between them. I was Catholic; she was Orthodox. If anything, we should've been like magnets pushing each other away, but it only pulled us closer.

At the time, I was actually a bit famous in Croatia. I'd once had all my teeth and won third place in a reality show called "Story Super Nova Multitalent," a comedian competition. I didn't win, but my jokes and funny sketches made me a crowd favorite.

It started to mess with my private life, so I had to run away from the capital to a smaller, quieter place where I could have peace. Then my teeth started to fall off, and everything was gone wrong. Losing my teeth was hard, but I turned to stand-up comedy. What else would a 29-year-old guy without teeth do?

It was a perfect decision. People come to the show to laugh, and for me, opening my mouth and saying, "What up, folks?" was enough to cause them to burst into laughter.

And then I met your mother on Facebook.

We spent years chatting, then hours on the phone, exchanging texts, and even talking on Skype. We felt so connected that we even changed our status to "engaged," but we still hadn't met in person.

As much as we loved each other, doubts crept in. She worried about what would happen when we finally met. Would the connection be the same in real life?

Then came the most challenging part. She decided she couldn't go on and ended things by apologizing and wishing me the best. She erased her profile, changed her number, and disappeared.

I was devastated. For three days, I barely left my bed. I couldn't eat or think. I cried, listened to Lionel Richie songs on repeat (don't laugh!), and swore I'd never trust anyone again. But I didn't delete my Facebook; I couldn't bear to let go of those memories.

Time passed, and I tried moving on and meeting other people. But no one compared to her. Every relationship felt hollow. Then, one day, something unexpected happened. I'd just lost my job after a robbery at work injured me, and my story ended up in the newspaper. She saw my photo in that paper, living on the Croatian coast with a man she called a roommate rather than a boyfriend. It was actually her roommate who pointed out my picture to her.

Then, out of the blue, she texted me: "No matter how hard we try to stay away, life keeps bringing us back together."

Seeing that message felt like winning the lottery. We started chatting again, picking up where we left off, and a few months later, I did the craziest thing of my life: I left my stand-up career behind, bought a bus ticket, and headed to Belgrade.

I was leaving everything familiar - my friends, my life, my identity as a performer - for someone I'd only known through a screen and a phone line.

The bus ride was the most extended, scariest trip I'd ever taken, but somehow, I didn't doubt it for a second. I remember stepping off that bus, seeing her for the first time, and how she smiled at me. It was the most incredible feeling, like finally coming home.

And now, as I write this, your mom is asleep beside me, and you two are safe upstairs. The house is quiet and calm. More than ten years have passed since I stepped off that bus, took her hand, and began our life together.

All the time we were in a relationship, I didn't tell any of my friends who she was or how we met. Not because I was ashamed - no, it was because it was our secret world, just hers and mine.

And that, my dear daughters, is how I met and married your mother.

With all my love,

Your father