I came to this island looking for peace—to start a new life and heal from my past.
Instead, I met him—charming, attentive, and everything I didn’t even know I needed.
But just when I started believing in new beginnings, a single moment shattered it all.
Even though I’d spent decades here, my living room felt unfamiliar.
I was fifty-five, standing over an open suitcase, wondering how my life had led me to this point.
“How did we end up here?” I asked, turning a chipped mug in my hands that read “Forever and always,” before setting it aside.
I ran my hand over the couch. “Goodbye, Sunday coffee and arguments about pizza.”
Memories buzzed in my head like uninvited guests I couldn’t force out.
In the bedroom, the emptiness felt even sharper. The other side of the bed stared at me like an accusation.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I muttered. “This isn’t only my fault.”
Packing turned into a hunt for the things that still mattered. My laptop sat on the desk like a lighthouse.
“At least you’re staying,” I said, brushing my fingers over it.
Inside it was my unfinished book—two years of work. It wasn’t ready yet, but it was mine—proof that I hadn’t completely lost myself.
Then a message came from Lana:
“Creative retreat. Warm island. Fresh start. Wine.”
“Of course—wine,” I laughed.
Lana always had a gift for turning disasters into tempting offers.
The idea sounded bold, but wasn’t bold exactly what I needed?
I looked at my flight confirmation. My inner voice wouldn’t stop nagging.
What if I hated it? What if nobody liked me? What if I fell into the ocean and sharks ate me?
But then another thought came.
What if I actually liked it?
I took a deep breath and snapped the suitcase shut. “All right then—time to run.”
But I wasn’t running away. I was moving toward something new.
The island greeted me with a warm breeze and the steady rhythm of waves breaking on the shore.
For a moment I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply, letting the salty air fill my lungs.
This. This was what I needed.
But the quiet didn’t last. By the time I reached the retreat, the island’s calm had been replaced by loud music and roaring laughter.
Mostly young people—twenty to thirty—sprawled on bright beanbags, drinks in hand that looked more like umbrellas than liquid.
“This is definitely not a monastery,” I muttered.
A group by the pool laughed so loudly a bird launched off the nearest tree. I sighed.
Creative breakthroughs, huh, Lana?
Before I could melt into the shadows, Lana appeared—hat tilted crooked, margarita in hand.
“Thea!” she cried, as if we hadn’t texted just yesterday. “You made it!”
“I already regret it,” I muttered, but a smile crept onto my face anyway.
“Oh, stop,” she said with a dismissive wave. “Magic happens here. Trust me—you’ll love it.”
“I was hoping for something… quieter,” I said, raising an eyebrow.
“Nonsense! You need to meet people and soak up the energy! Oh—and,” she grabbed my hand, “I have to introduce you to someone.”
Before I could protest, she dragged me through the crowd.
I felt like an exhausted mom at a school fair, trying not to trip over flip-flops scattered everywhere.
We stopped in front of a man who—swear to God—looked like he’d stepped off a magazine cover.
Sun-kissed skin, an easy smile, and a white linen shirt unbuttoned just enough to be intriguing, not vulgar.
“Thea, this is Erik,” Lana announced, practically glowing.
“Nice to meet you, Thea,” he said, his voice as soft as a sea breeze.
“Likewise,” I replied, hoping my nerves weren’t too obvious.
Lana beamed like she’d just arranged a royal engagement.
“Erik’s a writer too. When I told him about your book, he really wanted to meet you.”
My cheeks warmed. “Oh—it’s not finished yet.”
“That doesn’t matter,” Erik said. “Two years of work—that’s impressive. I’d love to hear more.”
Lana smirked and backed away. “You two talk. I’m getting more margaritas!”
I was annoyed with her—but minutes later, whether it was Erik’s irresistible charm or the ocean wind doing its own kind of magic, I agreed to take a walk.
“Give me a minute,” I said, surprising myself.
In my room I dug through my suitcase and pulled out the most suitable summer dress I owned.
Why not? If I was going to be dragged into this, I might as well look good.
When I returned, Erik was already waiting. “Ready?”
I nodded and tried to look calm, even though my stomach was fluttering with a strange, unfamiliar excitement.
“Lead the way.”
He showed me parts of the island that seemed untouched by the retreat’s chaos.
A hidden beach with a swing tied to a palm tree. A secret path leading to a cliff with a breathtaking view—places you wouldn’t find in tourist guides.
“You have a talent,” I said, laughing.
“For what?” he asked, dropping onto the sand.
“For making someone forget they’re completely out of place.”
His smile widened. “Maybe you’re not as out of place as you think.”
As we talked, I laughed more than I had in months—maybe longer.
He told me about his travels and his love for literature—interests that matched mine.
His admiration for my book felt genuine, and when he joked that one day he’d frame my autograph on his wall, something warm stirred inside me—something I hadn’t felt in a long time.
And yet, beneath the laughter, something bothered me.
A faint unease I couldn’t explain.
He seemed perfect—too perfect.
The next morning started with huge enthusiasm.
I stretched, my mind buzzing with ideas for the next chapter.
“Today’s the day,” I whispered, grabbing my laptop.
My fingers flew over the keys.
But when the desktop loaded, my heart stopped.
The folder with my book—two years of work, sleepless nights—was gone.
I searched the entire hard drive, hoping it was just hidden somewhere.
Nothing.
“That’s… strange,” I told myself.
My laptop was there, but the most precious thing I owned had vanished without a trace.
“Okay. Don’t panic,” I whispered, gripping the edge of the desk. “You definitely saved it somewhere else.”
But I knew I hadn’t.
I bolted out of my room and headed straight for Lana.
As I walked down the corridor, I caught muffled voices.
I stopped, my heart pounding.
Slowly, I moved toward the next door—it was slightly open.
“We just need to offer it to the right publisher?” Erik’s voice said.
My blood turned to ice.
It was Erik.
Through the crack, I could see Lana leaning forward, her voice low—conspiratorial.
“Your manuscript is brilliant,” Lana purred, sweet as syrup. “We’ll find a way to pass it off as mine. She’ll never know what happened.”
My stomach clenched with rage and betrayal—but worse than that was the disappointment.
Erik—the man who made me laugh, who listened, who I’d started to trust—was part of it.
Before they could notice me, I spun around and rushed back to my room.
I yanked my suitcase open and began throwing things inside with shaking hands.
“This was supposed to be my fresh start,” I whispered bitterly.
My vision blurred, but I refused to let the tears fall.
Tears were for people who still believed in second chances. I didn’t.
When I left the island, the bright sun felt like a cruel joke.
I didn’t look back.
I didn’t need to.
Months later, a bookstore was packed, the air humming with voices.
I stood on a small platform holding a copy of my book, forcing myself to focus on the smiling faces.
“Thank you all for coming today,” I said, my voice steady despite the storm inside me. “This book is the result of many years of work—and a journey I didn’t expect.”
The applause was warm, but it hurt.
The book was my pride, yes—but the road to its success had been anything but easy.
The betrayal still lived deep inside me.
When the signing line dissolved and the last guest left, I sank into a corner of the store, exhausted.
That’s when I noticed it—a small folded note on the table.
“You owe me an autograph. Corner café, if you have time.”
The handwriting was unmistakable.
My heart stopped.
Erik.
I stared at the note, flooded with feelings—curiosity, anger, and something I couldn’t name yet.
For a second I wanted to crumple it and walk away.
Instead, I took a deep breath, grabbed my coat, and headed to the café.
I spotted him immediately.
“Pretty bold, leaving me a note like that,” I said, sitting down across from him.
“Bold or desperate?” he replied with a crooked smile. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”
“I wasn’t sure either,” I admitted.
“Thea—I need to explain everything. What happened on the island…
At first, I didn’t understand Lana’s real intentions. She convinced me it was for your own good.
But when I realized what she was actually planning, I took a USB drive and sent it to you.”
I said nothing.
“When Lana pulled me into it,” Erik continued, “she said you were too modest to publish your book yourself. She claimed you didn’t believe in your talent and needed someone to surprise you—to take your work to the next level. I thought I was helping.”
“Surprise?” I snapped. “You mean you stole my work behind my back?”
“At first, I didn’t see it that way. When I understood the truth, I grabbed the USB drive and tried to find you—but you’d already left.”
“So what I overheard wasn’t what it looked like?”
“Exactly. Thea… when I understood, I chose you.”
I let silence stretch between us, waiting for that old spark to flare again.
It didn’t.
Lana’s manipulations were behind me, and my book had been published on my terms.
“You know,” Erik said quietly at last, “she was always jealous of you. Even in university, she felt overshadowed. This time she saw her chance, and she used our trust to take what didn’t belong to her.”
“And now?”
“She disappeared. Cut every tie I knew. She couldn’t handle the consequences once I refused to support her lie.”
“You made the right choice,” I said. “That means something.”
“Does it mean you’ll give me a second chance?”
“One date,” I said, holding up a finger. “Don’t ruin it.”
His smile widened. “Deal.”
As we left the café, I caught myself smiling.
That one date became another. Then another.
And at some point, I fell in love again—this time not alone.
What began as betrayal turned into a relationship built on understanding, forgiveness, and—yes—love