I journeyed to the island seeking tranquility and a fresh start to mend my past, but instead I encountered HIM—captivating, caring, and everything I never knew I craved. Just as I began to embrace the possibility of new beginnings, one single moment shattered that fragile hope.
Even though I had spent decades in this place, my living room now felt like a stranger’s territory. At 55, I found myself staring at an open suitcase, questioning how my life had come to such a crossroads.
“How did we end up here?” I whispered to the worn “Forever & Always” cup in my hand before carelessly tossing it aside.
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I ran my fingers along the couch, bidding farewell to our Sunday coffees and playful pizza squabbles. Unwanted memories buzzed in my mind like uninvited guests, and in the bedroom the emptiness was even more stinging—the vacant side of the bed seemed to reproach me.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I muttered. “It wasn’t entirely my fault.”
Packing turned into a scavenger hunt for remnants of what still mattered. My laptop sat on the desk like a beacon in the dark.
“At least you stayed,” I murmured, giving it a gentle pat.
After two long years of work, my novel—though still unfinished—was my testament that I wasn’t completely lost. Then, an email from Lana arrived:
“Creative retreat. Warm island. Fresh start. Wine.”
“Of course, wine,” I laughed.
Lana had always had a way of making chaos sound enticing. The idea felt reckless, but wasn’t that exactly its point? I stared at the flight confirmation, while my inner doubts pestered me:
What if I end up hating it? What if they despise me? What if I tumble into the ocean and become shark bait?
Yet another thought whispered, “What if I actually enjoy it?”
Taking a deep breath, I closed the suitcase and declared, “Here’s to escaping.”
I wasn’t fleeing—it was a journey toward something new.
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The island greeted me with a gentle breeze and the rhythmic crash of ocean waves against the shore. I closed my eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply as the salty air filled my lungs. This was exactly what I had needed.
But that peace was short-lived. Approaching the retreat, the island’s calm was replaced by booming music and bursts of laughter. Young people in their 20s and 30s lounged on brightly colored beanbags, clutching drinks that looked more like fancy accessories than actual beverages.
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“This hardly feels like a sanctuary,” I muttered under my breath.
A boisterous group by the pool laughed so loudly that even a nearby bird took flight, and I couldn’t help but sigh. Before I could retreat further into the shadows, Lana appeared—sunhat tilted playfully and a margarita in hand.
“Thea!” she called out as if we’d only just exchanged emails. “You made it!”
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“Already regretting it,” I murmured, forcing a smile.
“Come on,” she waved dismissively, “this is where the magic happens! Trust me, you’re going to love it.”
“I was hoping for something… quieter,” I replied with a raised eyebrow.
“Nonsense! You need to mingle and soak in the energy. And speaking of that,” she gripped my arm, “I have someone you simply must meet.”
Before I could protest, Lana whisked me through the crowd. I felt like an awkward parent at a high school dance, trying not to trip over stray flip-flops.
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We stopped before a man who, I kid you not, looked as though he belonged on the cover of GQ—sun-kissed skin, a relaxed smile, and a crisp white linen shirt left unbuttoned just enough to hint at allure without being over the top.
“Thea, meet Eric,” Lana announced excitedly.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Thea,” he said, his voice smooth like the ocean breeze.
“Likewise,” I managed, hoping my nervousness wasn’t too apparent.
Lana beamed as though she’d orchestrated a royal engagement. “Eric’s a writer too. He’s been dying to meet you ever since I mentioned your novel.”
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My cheeks warmed. “Oh, it’s still a work in progress.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Eric replied warmly. “The fact that you’ve poured two years of your life into it is incredible. I’d love to hear more about it.”
With a playful smirk, Lana stepped back. “You two chat while I fetch more margaritas!”
I shot her a glare, but within minutes—whether it was Eric’s undeniable charm or the island’s enchanting breeze—I found myself agreeing to take a walk.
“Give me a moment,” I said, surprising even myself.
Back in my room, I rifled through my suitcase and pulled out my most flattering sundress. If I was going to be dragged around, I might as well look good. When I emerged, Eric was already waiting. “Ready?”
I nodded, trying to act casual despite the unexpected flutter in my stomach. “Lead the way.”
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Eric guided me to parts of the island untouched by the retreat’s chaos—a secluded beach featuring a swing dangling from a palm tree, a hidden trail leading to a cliff with a breathtaking view—secret spots that no guidebook mentioned.
“You’re quite good at this,” I laughed.
“Good at what?” he asked, settling on the sand.
“Making someone forget they’re completely out of their element.”
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His smile widened. “Maybe you’re not as out of place as you think.”
As we strolled and talked, I found myself laughing more freely than I had in months. He shared stories of his travels and his passion for literature, a passion that resonated with me. His sincere admiration for my novel warmed my heart, and when he joked about framing my autograph someday, I felt a long-forgotten glow of happiness.
Yet beneath the laughter, a subtle unease tugged at the edge of my thoughts—he seemed almost too perfect.
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The next morning began on a hopeful note. I stretched, my mind buzzing with ideas for the next chapter of my novel.
“Today’s the day,” I murmured as I reached for my laptop. My fingers flew over the keys, but when the desktop loaded, my heart sank. The folder containing my novel—two years of blood, sweat, and sleepless nights—had vanished. I scoured every corner of the hard drive, desperate to find it, but it was nowhere to be found.
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“That’s odd,” I whispered to myself. Although my laptop was still there, the most precious part of my life’s work had disappeared without a trace.
“Okay, don’t panic,” I reassured myself, clutching the desk’s edge. “Maybe I accidentally deleted it.” But deep down, I knew I hadn’t. I bolted out of my room and headed straight for Lana. As I passed a hallway, muffled voices caught my attention. I froze, heart pounding, and crept toward the sound. The door to the next room was slightly ajar.
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Through the gap, I heard, “We just need to pitch it to the right publisher?”—Eric’s unmistakable voice. Peeking in, I saw Lana leaning in conspiratorially.
“Her manuscript is brilliant,” she cooed, “and we’ll figure out how to present it as mine. She’ll never know what hit her.”
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My stomach churned with anger and betrayal, coupled with a deep disappointment. Eric—who had made me laugh, who had listened to me, who I had begun to trust—was involved in this deceit.
I turned away swiftly and retreated to my room. I slammed my suitcase shut, stuffing my clothes in a frantic, haphazard pile.
“This was supposed to be my fresh start,” I whispered bitterly.
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My vision blurred, yet I refused to cry. Crying was for those who still clung to second chances, and I was done with that chapter of my life. By the time I left the island, even the bright sunshine felt like a cruel joke. I kept my gaze fixed ahead, determined not to look back.
Months later, a local bookstore buzzed with excitement. Rows of seats filled the room, and the air hummed with conversation. Standing at the podium, novel in hand, I tried to focus on the smiling faces before me.
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“Thank you all for being here tonight,” I began, my voice steady despite the swirling emotions beneath. “This book is the result of years of hard work—and a journey I never anticipated.” The applause was warm, yet a deep ache lingered in my chest. My novel was my pride, but the path to its publication had been anything but smooth, the sting of betrayal still fresh.
After the signing line dwindled and the last guest departed, I sank into a corner chair, utterly exhausted. That’s when I noticed a small folded note left on a table.
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It read, “You owe me an autograph. Café around the corner when you’re free.” The handwriting was unmistakable. My heart skipped a beat—it was Eric.
I stared at the note, feeling a confusing mix of curiosity, irritation, and an unnamed emotion. For a moment, I considered crumpling it and walking away. Instead, I sighed, grabbed my coat, and headed to the café where I spotted him immediately.
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Sliding into the seat across from him, I said, “You’re quite bold, leaving me a note like that.”
“Bold or desperate?” he replied with a wry smile. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”
“Neither was I,” I admitted.
“Thea, I need to explain. About what happened on the island… At first, I didn’t realize Lana’s true motives. She convinced me it was all to help you. But the moment I discovered her real plan, I took the flash drive and sent it to you.”
I remained silent.
“When Lana got me involved, she claimed you were too modest to publish your own work—that you didn’t believe in your talent and needed someone to give you a push. I thought I was doing you a favor,” Eric continued.
“A surprise? You mean you took my work behind my back?” I shot back.
“That’s exactly what I thought at first. The instant she revealed the truth, I grabbed the flash drive and tried to find you, but you were already gone.”
“So, what I overheard wasn’t what it seemed?”
“It wasn’t. Thea, I chose you the moment I understood the truth.”
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I let the silence linger, waiting for the familiar anger to rise—but it didn’t. Lana’s manipulations were now in the past, and my novel had been published on my own terms.
“She always envied you, you know,” Eric said softly, breaking the silence. “Even back in university, she felt overshadowed. This time, she seized the opportunity and exploited both our trust to take what wasn’t hers.”
“And now?”
“She’s gone—completely disappeared from every circle I know. She couldn’t bear the consequences after I refused to support her lies.”
“You made the right decision. That matters.”
“Does that mean you’ll give me another chance?”
I raised a finger and said, “Just one date—don’t mess it up.” His grin widened as he replied, “Deal.”
As we left the café, I found myself smiling. That one date led to another, and then another still, until I unexpectedly fell in love—a love that, this time, was mutual. What began with betrayal had grown into a relationship founded on understanding, forgiveness, and genuine love.