Gina Heslop
For years, my home had been my safe place, but that morning, it felt different—like I didn’t belong there anymore.
I sat on the edge of my bed, looking at my half-packed suitcase. In my hands was an old coffee mug that said Forever & Always. The words felt painfully ironic. The empty side of the bed seemed to mock me. I ran my fingers over the sheets and whispered, “Well, I guess we didn’t make it.”
Packing didn’t feel like a fresh start—it felt like picking through the ruins of my past. But I knew I couldn’t stay stuck anymore. I needed to move forward, no matter how scary it was.
Then, an email arrived from my friend Lana. “Creative retreat. Warm island. Fresh start.” Lana always knew how to make things sound exciting. At first, I hesitated. Running away wasn’t my style.
But what if this wasn’t running away? What if it was running toward something new? I took a deep breath, closed my suitcase, and made the decision. Here’s to reckless choices.
The moment I stepped onto the island, I felt the warm breeze and smelled the salty air. For the first time in a long while, I thought maybe I had made the right choice.
That feeling didn’t last. As I arrived at the retreat, I expected peace and quiet, but instead, I found loud music, laughter, and young writers sprawled across colorful beanbags with drinks in their hands.
It felt more like a party than a place to work. Before I could turn around, Lana appeared, glowing from the sun and grinning, a margarita in hand.
“Thea!” she squealed, grabbing my arm. “Lana, what is this?” I gestured toward the chaos around us. “This is magic! You need this. Speaking of which…”
She pulled me toward a man who looked like he had stepped out of a movie—tanned skin, sun-bleached hair, and a charming smile. “Thea, meet Eric. He’s a writer too.”
Eric was kind, easy to talk to, and understood my love for storytelling. As we walked along the beach that evening, sharing stories and laughter, I let my guard down. Maybe this wasn’t a mistake after all.
The next morning, I woke up full of energy. Today was the day I would finally focus on my novel. But when I opened my laptop, my heart stopped. The folder was gone.
Two years of work—everything I had written—had disappeared. Frantic, I searched every file, but deep down, I knew. This wasn’t an accident. I rushed down the hallway, trying to find Lana, when I heard voices coming from a room.
I stopped in my tracks. “We just need to pitch it to the right publisher,” Eric’s voice said. Through the slightly open door, I saw Lana leaning in, her tone full of confidence. “Her manuscript is brilliant. We’ll figure out how to position it as mine. She’ll never know what hit her.”
A cold wave of betrayal hit me. I turned away before they could see me. My hands trembled as I packed my suitcase in record time. I didn’t need closure. I needed distance. By the time I left the island, I didn’t look back.
The bookstore was packed for my first book signing. My novel—my novel—had finally been published, and I had done it on my terms. No stolen ideas, no shortcuts.
As I signed the last book of the night, I noticed a folded note under my coffee cup. “You owe me an autograph. Café around the corner when you’re free.” My heart skipped a beat. Eric. I should have ignored it.
But instead, I found myself walking toward the café, my heart pounding. When I arrived, I spotted him immediately. He was already watching me, his expression unreadable.
“You’re bold, leaving me a note like that,” I said as I sat down across from him. “Bold or desperate?” he replied with a small smile. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.” “Neither was I.” He took a deep breath. “Thea, I need to explain. I didn’t know what Lana was planning at first.
She told me she was helping you. But the moment I found out the truth, I stole the flash drive and sent it to you.” My heart pounded. “So, what I overheard wasn’t what it seemed?” “It wasn’t,” he said firmly. “The moment I knew, I chose you.”
I let his words settle in. Part of me wanted to stay angry, but I couldn’t ignore the truth—he had helped me when it mattered most. “And Lana?” I asked. “Gone.
She disappeared when I exposed her.” “So… what now?” “That depends,” he said, holding my gaze. “Would you consider giving me another chance?” I tapped my fingers against my coffee cup, thinking. “One date,” I said finally. “Don’t mess it up.” His grin widened. “Deal.”
And just like that, I realized something: not all betrayals end in heartbreak. Some lead to something completely unexpected. Maybe even love.
