When I remarried at 62, I didn’t tell my husband I owned three clothing stores, and it saved me beca

A Legacy Built from Nothing and a Meeting at St. Mary’s

The only reason I still own my three boutique clothing stores, the only reason I’m not bankrupt and broken today, is because when I fell in love with Michael Chen at 62 years old, I made one decision that saved my life. I never told him the truth about my business.

My name is Susan. I’m 67 now, and I’ve been running boutique women’s clothing stores in the Portland area for 33 years.

These are not franchises or some corporate chain. They are three independently owned stores that I built from absolutely nothing.

When my husband David died 15 years ago, he left me with exactly two things: a mortgage and a dream. He’d always believed in my eye for fashion and my ability to curate pieces that made women feel beautiful.

I took our life insurance payout, every penny of it, and I opened my first store in a small strip mall in Beaverton. I called it Susan’s Closet.

Do you know what it’s like to be a 47-year-old widow trying to compete with Nordstrom and online shopping? I was there seven days a week.

I drove to Los Angeles four times a year to buy inventory. I learned bookkeeping on YouTube at two in the morning.,

I negotiated with landlords, dealt with shoplifters, hired and fired employees, and somehow, I made it work. By the time I turned 55, I had three locations: Beaverton, Lake Oswego, and downtown Portland.

Each store had its own personality and its own carefully selected inventory. The Beaverton store catered to working moms, Lake Oswego attracted the country club set, and downtown Portland was where I showcased emerging designers and edgier pieces.

I paid off every loan, every single one. By 60, I owned all three stores free and clear.

The buildings were leased, but the businesses, the inventory, the bank accounts, the reputation—all of it was mine. I had seven employees across the three locations.

Revenue was steady at about 400,000 a year with profit margins around 20% after expenses. I wasn’t rich, but I was comfortable and I was proud.

I was also incredibly lonely. After David died, I threw myself into work.

My daughter Lisa lives in Seattle with her family, and my son Mark is in Boston. They have their own lives.,

I had my stores, my book club, my church group at St. Mary’s, and a cat named Buttons. That was my entire world for 13 years.

Then I met Michael Chen. It was at a church fundraiser in March of 2021.

He was new to St. Mary’s, having just moved to Portland from San Francisco for a fresh start. He said he was 58.

He was tall and well-dressed in that effortless way that suggested quality without trying too hard. He had silver hair and a warm smile.

When he introduced himself, his handshake was firm but not aggressive. We started talking about the fundraiser, then about Portland.

Somehow, we ended up in a two-hour conversation about everything from our favorite restaurants to our late spouses. His wife had died of cancer three years earlier.

He seemed genuinely kind and genuinely interested in me as a person. He asked if he could take me to dinner the following week, and I said yes.

Those first six months with Michael were like something out of a novel I never thought I’d get to read at my age. He took me to the symphony, we hiked in the Columbia River Gorge, and he cooked me dinner at his apartment.,

It was a beautiful loft in the Pearl District. He met Lisa when she visited for Thanksgiving, and they got along wonderfully.

Michael told me he was a business consultant. He said he’d sold his consulting firm in San Francisco and was semi-retired, just taking on select clients.

He was comfortable, he said, not wealthy, but he’d made smart investments over the years. He asked about my work, and I told him I owned boutique clothing stores.

I kept it vague. I said business was steady and that I got by.

I never mentioned that I owned three locations or that they were debt-free. I never mentioned my actual revenue.

Why? I don’t know. Instinct, maybe.

Perhaps after building something entirely on my own for so long, I’d learned to be careful about who I let into that part of my life. By September, Michael proposed.

We were at Cannon Beach watching the sunset, and he got down on one knee right there in the sand. I cried and I said,,

“Yes.”

We set the wedding for January, just a small ceremony at the church with close friends and family. That’s when things started to feel off.

It was subtle at first. The week after we got engaged, Michael mentioned that he’d love to see my stores sometime.

“I’d love to understand your business better,”

he said over dinner.

“Maybe I could offer some consulting advice, help you grow.”

I smiled and changed the subject. Then, about three weeks before the wedding, Michael suggested we meet with a financial planner together just to make sure we were aligned on our retirement goals.

He said it would be nothing formal, just a conversation. I told him I already had a financial adviser and was comfortable with my planning.

He seemed a little annoyed but didn’t push it. The real red flag came two weeks before the wedding.

Michael’s daughter flew in from San Francisco. Her name was Jennifer, and she was 34, a marketing executive at some tech company.

Michael was excited for me to meet her. We had dinner at a nice Italian restaurant in the Pearl.,

Jennifer was polite at first, asking about my background, my family, and my interests. Then, halfway through the main course, she pivoted.

“So Susan, Dad mentioned you own a clothing store. That must be challenging in this economy. How’s business holding up?”

I kept my answer vague.

“It’s been good. I’ve been fortunate. Just the one location. I manage a small operation,”

I said, taking a sip of wine.

“And the building? Do you own it or lease it?”

I felt my spine stiffen.

“I lease.”

“Smart,”

she said, though her tone suggested she didn’t think it was smart at all.

“Have you thought about an exit strategy? I mean, retail is dying. Everyone shops online now. What’s your plan if things go south?”

Michael jumped in.

“Jennifer, that’s enough. Susan’s doing just fine.”

But Jennifer didn’t stop. She turned to her father.

“Dad, I’m just saying you guys should have a real conversation about finances before you get married. Prenups exist for a reason.”

The table went silent. I excused myself to the restroom.