Rebound: Life After Divorce & Addiction

Over the next six months, I methodically sold everything, clearing over $30 million. I paid my ex-wife her third. The stock kept going. Better to be a little early to the exit than a little late, I told myself.

Wealth, of course, wasn't the answer. In the past, I'd tried to plaster over my problems with riches. The voices of doubt inside my head laughed at each of these futile attempts at a quick fix, grabbing me by the balls for a lesson in humility. It took staying sober, continuing to try to be a good father, and finding the right woman to make me happy.

I met Noelle when I was five and a half years sober. We were set up on a blind date by a mutual friend. I suggested lunch in a safe location, so either one of us could bolt. I waited for her outside at a nice cafe on a sunny spring day. She was well dressed, tall, blond, and gorgeous. Her warmth immediately set me at ease. She pulled on my sweater playfully as we left.

I was careful not to call right away. But I did eventually and she agreed to dinner. In the weeks that followed, I was careful not to call too often. We met once a week and continued to get to know each other. I began to see that, like me, Noelle came to our relationship after real-life challenges.

She had lost a husband less than two years into marriage. She was the first person in her large family to go to graduate school and had spent several years in court litigating cases. I was attracted to her street smarts as well as her huge heart. I could tell that along with her outer beauty, this woman had inner strength that I could count on, even with my most precious possessions: Grace and James.

Six years to the day after my last drink, Noelle and I exchanged vows by candlelight, as snow fell gently in the dark. A tenor belted out "Ave Maria." Grace, eight years old, was so excited she kept standing on Noelle's dress. James rang the church bell at the end of the service. Dad gave a heartfelt toast, acknowledging the distance that Noelle and I had each traveled to get to that day. Fittingly, inside my wedding band Noelle had inscribed "To the moon and back," a line from the children's book Guess How Much I Love You.

Three and a half years after marrying Noelle—on a sunny summer morning—our 18-month-old son, Timothy, woke me up early to play. I followed him out the back door and into the field overlooking the Atlantic Ocean behind the summer home Noelle and I had built. Osprey circled up high and then dive straight down, splashing into the water in search of breakfast.

We sat on chairs in the sand that afternoon. The sun, the waves, my beautiful wife and three happy children sank into my heart, producing the blissful sensation of belonging; a feeling far better than the fleeting high of booze, deal-making or illicit sex. Finally I didn't have to wait for my lies to catch up with me. I was aware of the people that I had hurt terribly along the way. The pain and suffering was not something I would ever want to go through again; having made it to the other side—to that beach surrounded by the family that I adored—I saw how every step was required to find my way home.