Being tired from work and playing therapist to my heartbroken sister, I bought a random plane ticket just to relax again. Mexico promised escape—until I boarded the flight… and sitting near the one man I never wanted to see again: her ex-husband.
I dragged myself home like I was hauling bricks on my back after the longest shift of my week. Every step felt like I was walking through thick mud.
I turned on the faucet, splashed cold water on my face, and took a deep breath. Then another.
No time for weakness. Not now. Not with her here.
“I’m home,” I said, loud enough to carry down the hall.
From the bedroom, I heard it—the sound I’d grown used to.
Jolene appeared in the hallway, wrapped in my old flannel robe, her eyes red and puffy.
“Hey,” I said gently.
Her voice had been gone for days, swallowed by sadness.
It had been a full month since she moved in.
A full month since Dean left her, without notifications or even a half-decent excuse.
Since then, she’d barely eaten, barely slept.
That night, after I made us dinner and watched her push peas around her plate, I cleaned the dishes while she curled up on the couch, another quiet storm breaking behind her eyes.
I walked up to the counter and said, “Give me the first ticket out of here.”
“Cancún, Mexico,” the woman said.
Perfect.
I smiled for the first time in weeks. Not a forced smile. A real one.
Until I boarded the plane.
And there he was. Dean.
Of all the people on Earth, why him?
He said something I couldn’t understand, gesturing toward a dusty blue car parked nearby.
I gave a nervous laugh, pulled out my phone, and opened the translator app.
“I need a hotel,” I typed.
He leaned in, read it, and nodded quickly. “Sí, sí,” he said, pointing again at the car and then to my suitcase.
“Wow. Full service,” I muttered.
He took it like it weighed nothing, opened the trunk, tossed it in, and gave me another wide grin.
But before I could reach the door, the engine roared.
“Wait!” I shouted.
Too late.
He hit the gas and sped off, my suitcase bouncing in the trunk like a final insult.
I just stood there. Frozen. Mouth open. Mind empty.
He stole it. He really stole it. My bag. My passport. My wallet. My clothes. All of it.
Gone.
I sat down hard on the steps outside the airport, my knees wobbly.
“Susan?”
I looked up. My vision blurred from tears and sun.
Of course. Dean.
“Are you okay?” he asked, coming closer.
“I just got robbed!” I shouted.
“He took everything—my suitcase, my passport, my money—everything!”
Dean blinked. “What? Who?”
“I thought he was a cab driver. I asked him for a hotel. He smiled, and then he just—he just took off!”
“Alright,” he said. “Come on. Let’s go report it. We’ll fix this.”
I stared at him.
I wanted to yell. Tell him to get lost. But what good would that do?
He was the only person I knew in Mexico.
And I was too tired, too lost, and too alone to say no.
Dean stood at the counter, talking to the officer behind the glass. And not just talking—really talking.
I watched him list every detail: the make and model of the car, the man’s hair, his shirt, even the small scratch on the bumper.
I blinked, stunned.
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. “They’ve seen this scam before. Someone like that doesn’t get far.”
Dean looked at me for a second before clearing his throat. “Listen… you can stay in my hotel room tonight.”
I blinked. “Seriously?”
“There are two beds,” he said quickly.
“And you don’t have your passport or money. It’s late. You need a place to sleep.”
“Fine. But no weird stuff.”
“I’m not a creep, Susan.”
We left the station and rode in silence.
His room smelled faintly like clean sheets and coconut soap.
Dean sat on the other bed and looked down at the floor. The silence stretched between us like a tight rope.
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.”
“I didn’t leave without saying anything. I told her the truth.”
I frowned. “What truth?”
Dean leaned forward, bumps on his knees.
“That we were growing apart. That 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.”
That stopped me cold. My chest tightened.
“Who?” I whispered.
He didn’t look away.
“You,” he said.
“You’re kidding,” I said.
“I’m not,” Dean replied 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.”
“So what, Dean? You blow up your marriage and now you confess all this to me like it’s some kind of rom-com ending?”
“I didn’t say it hoping for something. I told you because I needed to be honest. For once in my life, I wanted to say the truth.”
Because the truth is, there had always been something. Small sparks I never dared to feed..
I hated it. And I hated myself for not hating him enough.
“I need to sleep,” I said quietly. “We’ll deal with this tomorrow.”
In the morning, the police called. They had my things. I packed up without speaking to Dean.
I couldn’t look at him—not without wanting something I wasn’t ready to want.
Back home, the air felt colder. Quieter. Jolene was still staying at my place.
Later, I opened my phone and found Dean’s contact.
I stared at it for a long time. Then, against everything I thought I knew, I typed:
“How about coffee sometime?”
Maybe I was wrong. Maybe it was selfish.
But maybe it was honest.
