Who We are

For as long as I can remember, I dreamed of owning my own business. I imagined a cozy little café, where people would gather over cups of coffee and freshly baked cookies. After years of saving, sacrificing, and sleepless nights, Bean awhile finally opened its doors.

At first, it was everything we hoped it’d be. The customers loved the atmosphere, the rich aroma of coffee, and our dedication. But as demand grew, so did my hours. Mornings turned into late nights, weekends blurred into workweeks, and soon, I was always at the café—even when I wasn’t.

My wife, Crystal, would call. ” Our daughter has her school play tonight. You promised you’d be there.” “I know, I know,” rubbing my tired eyes I would say. “But we’re short-staffed. Just this once.”

“Just this once” became a habit. I missed her first ballet recital. I missed our tenth anniversary dinner. I even missed my father’s 75th birthday—the last one before the sudden heart attack that took him.

One night, I came home to an empty house. No one cooking dinner, no Little girl chattering about her day. Just a note on the table:

“We can’t keep waiting for you to have time for us. We love you, but we need more than leftovers of your life.”

My hands shook as I stared at the words. The café—my pride, my obsession—had cost me everything I was working so hard for.

That night, I sat alone in my empty café, the smell of coffee suddenly bitter. I had built my dream, but in doing so, I had lost what truly mattered.

And it made success taste like regret.