I was stranded in another country, and the last person I ever expected to rely on my sister’s exturned out to be my only way back

For more sotries

Drained from work and emotionally worn out after another night playing stand-in therapist for my heartbroken sister, I did the only thing that made sense—I booked a random flight, desperate to feel like myself again. Mexico seemed like the perfect place to breathe. But when I stepped onto the plane, the illusion shattered. Sitting just a few rows away was the one person I never wanted to see again: her ex-husband.

By the time I got home, my body felt like it had been put through a grinder. Every step from the train to my front door was a battle, like dragging a boulder through wet cement.

I turned on the tap and splashed cold water on my face, trying to jolt myself back to life. Deep breath in. Deep breath out.

Now wasn’t the time to fall apart. She needed me.

“I’m home,” I called, loud enough to echo down the hallway.

A soft shuffle came from the bedroom, followed by the all-too-familiar sound of quiet crying.

Jolene stepped out, wrapped in my worn flannel robe, her face blotchy, eyes swollen with fresh tears.

“Hey,” I said softly.

She hadn’t spoken in days—her voice seemed buried beneath the weight of everything she was feeling.

It had been a month since she moved in.

A month since Dean vanished from her life without warning, without so much as a half-hearted explanation.

Since then, sleep and food had become strangers to her.

That evening, I made dinner like usual. She sat across from me, barely touching her food, nudging peas around her plate like they were too heavy to lift. Afterward, while she curled into the couch like she was trying to disappear, I washed dishes and watched the silence settle around her like fog.

I grabbed my bag, walked to the nearest travel desk, and said, “I need a one-way ticket. Anywhere.”

“Cancún, Mexico,” the agent replied.

That sounded like freedom.

For the first time in weeks, I actually smiled—and meant it.

Right up until I stepped onto the plane.

And there he was. Dean.

Of all the people in the world… why did it have to be him?

He said something in rapid Spanish, motioning toward an old, dusty blue car parked just a few feet away.

I forced a shaky laugh, pulled out my phone, and launched the translation app.

“I need a hotel,” I typed.

He leaned over, read it, and gave an eager nod. “Sí, sí,” he said, pointing again at the car, then at my suitcase.

“Wow. Door-to-door service,” I muttered under my breath.

He hoisted my luggage like it was weightless, popped the trunk, tossed it in, and flashed me a big, confident smile.

But before I could grab the handle and climb in, the engine roared to life.

“Wait!” I yelled.

Too late.

The car peeled out, tires kicking up dust, and my suitcase rattled in the trunk as it disappeared down the road—one last gut-punch in an already ridiculous day.

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 collapsed onto the steps outside the airport, my legs shaking beneath me.

“Susan?”

I looked up, my vision blurry from the mix of tears and the harsh sunlight.

Of course. It was Dean.

“Are you okay?” he asked, moving closer.

“I’ve been robbed!” I screamed.

“He took everything my suitcase, my passport, my money everything!”

Dean blinked in confusion. “What? Who did this?”

“I thought he was a taxi driver. I asked him to take me to a hotel. He smiled, then just—just drove off!”

“Okay,” he said, his voice calm. “Let’s go file a report. We’ll get this sorted.”

I stared at him, stunned.

I wanted to yell at him, tell him to leave me alone. 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.

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