At 45, my life had fallen apart — cheating husband, lost job, empty home. So when my friend dragged me to the coast, I hoped for a fresh start.
At a beach bar, I met Adrian. Warm, kind, alive — for the first time in years, I felt seen.
The next morning, everything shattered. Adrian stepped outside, returning with a stunning, terrified woman.
“This is my wife, Danielle,” he said.
She wasn’t there to fight for him. She had just received late-stage cancer news and didn’t want to face it alone.
In that moment, anger faded. I reached for her hand.
“You won’t,” I whispered.
Adrian held her, she wept, and I stepped back — choosing compassion over ego.
That day, I didn’t lose a man. I found myself again.