After a grueling week at work and playing therapist to my heartbroken sister, I was drowning. I needed to escape. So, in a moment of pure desperation, I bought a random plane ticket, hoping Mexico would offer the breath of fresh air I so desperately needed. But as soon as I boarded the flight, I locked eyes with the last person I ever wanted to see again—my sister’s ex-husband, Dean.
The day had been long—too long. Every minute dragged, my shoulders burdened by exhaustion. I barely had the energy to walk through the door when I finally got home. My back ached, and my head felt like it was being squeezed in a vice. The last thing I wanted to do was turn on the lights. I just kicked off my shoes and dropped my purse onto the hallway table.
I stumbled to the bathroom, barely able to keep my eyes open. Looking into the mirror, I didn’t recognize the person staring back.
My skin was dull, my face pale. My hair, pulled back into a messy bun, looked like it belonged to someone who hadn’t seen a comb in days. My eyes were hollow, bags under them like bruises, evidence of too many sleepless nights.
“A wilted flower,” I whispered to my reflection.
I turned on the cold water, splashed it on my face, and took a deep breath. Another one.
I forced a smile, but it didn’t reach my eyes. I couldn’t afford weakness. Not now. Not with my sister living in my guest room, still heartbroken after her marriage fell apart.
“I’m home,” I said, trying to sound normal.
From the bedroom, I heard the familiar sound of sniffles—soft and broken, like a balloon losing air.
Jolene appeared in the hallway, wearing my old flannel robe. Her eyes were red and swollen, and her hand clutched a crumpled tissue. She barely looked up.
“Hey,” I greeted her gently, but she just nodded and wiped her nose. Her voice had been gone for days—swallowed by the sadness that had consumed her.
It had been a month since Dean had left her. He didn’t even have the decency to give her an explanation. Just a note on the kitchen counter and his key left behind. A coward.
Since that day, Jolene had barely eaten or slept. She spent most days crying or lost in her thoughts. I did everything I could—long talks, cups of herbal tea, holding her when she fell apart. But nothing seemed to make a difference. I kept hearing the same questions, over and over:
“Why me? What did I do wrong? Did he ever love me?”
She never got answers. And somewhere along the way, I stopped asking myself if I had anything left to give. I was running on empty. Who was taking care of the one who always took care of everyone else?
After I made dinner that night and watched her push peas around her plate, something inside me broke—or maybe it bent, stretched until I couldn’t see straight anymore.
The next morning, I knew what I had to do. I packed a bag, called a cab, and headed to the airport with no plan except to disappear.
At the ticket counter, I asked for the first flight out of town.
“Cancún, Mexico,” the woman said.
It was perfect.
For the first time in weeks, I smiled—a real smile.
But that smile disappeared the moment I boarded the plane.
There he was—Dean.
I froze, my stomach twisting like a knot being pulled tighter. Of all the places in the world, why did I have to see him here?
The moment I stepped out of the Cancún airport, the heat hit me like a punch. The air was thick with salt and the smell of the ocean. Sweat started trickling down my neck, and I squinted against the bright sunlight, trying to act like I had a plan. But the truth was, I had no idea where I was going. I just knew I didn’t want to be in Iowa anymore.
I stood there, staring at the signs, the palm trees, the rows of taxis I wasn’t even sure were real.
Then a man walked up to me. He looked to be in his thirties, wearing a loose shirt soaked in sweat. He said something I didn’t understand, pointing to a dusty blue car nearby.
I laughed nervously, pulling out my phone and opening the translator app.
“I need a hotel,” I typed.
He read it, then nodded quickly. “Sí, sí,” he said, pointing to my suitcase and then to the car.
“Wow. Full service,” I muttered to myself as I handed over my bag.
He took it like it weighed nothing, tossed it in the trunk, and grinned at me.
Before I could reach the door, the engine roared to life.
“Wait!” I shouted, but it was too late.
The car sped off, my suitcase bouncing in the trunk.
My heart stopped. My bag. My passport. My money. Everything was gone.
I stood there, frozen, staring after the car. My mouth hung open, my mind blank.
I had been robbed. Completely.
The panic hit me like a wave. My phone was still in my hand, but there was no service, no SIM card that worked in Mexico. I couldn’t even call for help.
I sat down hard on the steps outside the airport, my knees weak. My chest felt tight, like I couldn’t breathe.
And then the tears came. Not soft, quiet ones. These were the kind of tears that made you shake, the kind you didn’t want anyone to see.
“Susan?”
I looked up, my vision blurry with tears and the bright sun.
And there he was. Dean.
“Are you okay?” he asked, holding a small black duffel bag.
“I just got robbed!” I yelled, wiping my face with both hands. “He took everything—my suitcase, my passport, my money—everything!”
Dean blinked. “What? Who?”
“I thought he was a cab driver,” I explained, my voice shaky. “I asked him for a hotel. He smiled, and then he just—he just took off!”
Dean didn’t say anything right away. He just stood there, staring at me, before sighing.
“Alright,” he said, his voice calm. “Come on. Let’s go report it. We’ll fix this.”
I wanted to yell at him, tell him to get lost, but I couldn’t. He was the only person I knew here. And I was too tired, too lost, too scared to say no.
The police station was small and smelled like hot dust and strong coffee. A fan in the corner spun lazily, barely moving the thick air.
I sat in a plastic chair by the wall, clutching my phone like it was the only thing keeping me grounded.
Dean stood at the counter, talking to the officer behind the glass. But he wasn’t just talking. He was fluent—his Spanish smooth and confident, without a single hesitation.
I watched as he listed every detail: the make and model of the car, the man’s shirt, even a scratch on the bumper. He remembered things I didn’t even notice. He helped me recall the license plate number from memory.
I was stunned. I had always seen Dean as someone who left messes for others to clean up, but now, he was calm, in control.
When he finally walked back to me, he had a tired smile on his face.
“They said they’ll find the guy by tomorrow,” he said, lowering his voice. “They’ve seen this scam before. Someone like that doesn’t get far.”
I nodded, unable to say anything. For the first time in a long time, I didn’t have to fix everything. Dean was doing it for me.
As we left the station, he cleared his throat.
“Listen… you can stay in my hotel room tonight.”
I blinked. “Seriously?”
“There are two beds,” he said quickly. “You don’t have your passport or money. It’s late. You need a place to sleep.”
I crossed my arms. “Fine. But no weird stuff.”
“I’m not a creep, Susan.”
The hotel was simple, a beige building with a glowing neon sign. Inside, his room smelled faintly of coconut soap and fresh sheets. I sat on the edge of one bed, not knowing where to put my hands or my thoughts.
Dean sat on the other bed, his eyes focused on the floor. The silence between us stretched out, thick and awkward.
Finally, he spoke.
“Why are you so angry with me?”
I let out a dry laugh. “Are you really asking that?”
“Yeah. I want to understand.”
“You left Jolene,” I snapped. “She’s been sleeping in my guest room, crying into her pillow every night. You broke her.”
He looked at me, his eyes softening. “I didn’t leave without saying anything. I told her the truth.”
I frowned. “What truth?”
Dean leaned forward, elbows on his knees.
“That we were growing apart. We were holding on just because we used to love each other. But that wasn’t enough anymore. It hadn’t been for a while.”
I folded my arms. “So you got bored. Decided to chase someone new.”
“No,” he said quietly. “I fell for someone else.”
I froze. My heart skipped a beat.
“Who?” I whispered.
He didn’t look away. “You.”
Just like that, the air in the room changed. It felt heavy, like it was pressing down on my chest.
“You’re kidding,” I said, trying to laugh it off.
“I’m not,” Dean said quietly. “It wasn’t planned. I didn’t mean for it to happen. But every time I saw you… it was different. I felt seen. I could breathe around you.”
I stood up so fast, the bed creaked. “So what, Dean? You destroy your marriage, and now you’re confessing all this like we’re in some rom-com?”
He shook his head. “I didn’t tell you this hoping for something. I just wanted to be honest. For once, I wanted to tell the truth.”
I turned away, staring at the wall. The silence was thick again, like a weight pushing down on my shoulders.
Inside, I was shaking. Not just from anger, but from fear. Because part of me wanted to believe him.
But I couldn’t. Not yet. Not when Jolene was still on my couch, crying.
“I need to sleep,” I said quietly. “We’ll deal with this tomorrow.”
But sleep didn’t come. All I could hear was the hum of the air conditioner, and my heart thudding in my chest.
The next morning, the police called. They found my stuff. I packed up quickly, not saying a word to Dean.
I couldn’t look at him. Not when all I wanted was something I wasn’t ready for.
Back home, the air felt different—colder. Quieter. Jolene was still at my place, offering me tea and a silent nod when I walked in.
Later, I opened my phone and stared at Dean’s contact.
I hesitated. Then, with a deep breath, I typed:
“How about coffee sometime?”
Maybe it was wrong. Maybe it was selfish.
But maybe, just maybe, it was honest. And right now, honesty was the only thing that didn’t feel like a lie.