For as long as I could remember, Greece had been my dream destination. I pictured myself walking through the ruins of Athens, watching the sun dip below the horizon in Santorini, the whitewashed cliffs glowing in the evening light. This vision kept me going through the grind of life, the countless sacrifices and pressures of work. Greece was my escape, my reward.
“I’ll stop when I go. Don’t you want to come with me?” I asked my husband, Dan. He softened and poured me a glass of wine. “Of course, darling. I’m just stressed out at work.”
But every time I brought up the trip, Dan would say “next year.” Each year, there was an excuse: “Work is too busy,” or “We need to prioritize home repairs.” I told myself it was okay; we’d go eventually. Yet, life never settled down. By the time I was almost 65, I’d saved enough for both of us. I decided I wasn’t waiting anymore. I planned a two-week trip to Athens, Santorini, and Mykonos. I even bought a new swimsuit, wanting to feel alive and enjoy the life I’d built.
One evening, I sat Dan down and made him his favorite lamb chops. “Let’s go to Greece for my 65th birthday.” He barely glanced at me before laughing. “Greece? Really? At your age? You’re too old for that. What are you going to do there, walk around in that silly swimsuit?”
His words stunned me. “I’ve been saving for this trip for years, Dan. We’ve always talked about going together.” He shrugged. “Maybe you should set your sights on something more reasonable, like a cabin somewhere.”
My throat tightened. “This is my dream, Dan.” His expression hardened. “Your dream is a waste of time and money. Why don’t you give me that money? I’ve been thinking about a fishing trip.”
That’s when something inside me snapped. I had been waiting for him, thinking we were in this together. But he didn’t care about my happiness.
“I’m going to Greece, Dan,” I said.
“Sure you are,” he scoffed.
The next morning, while he was out, I booked the trip for the next day—no hesitation, no checking with him. I left a note: “Dan, you’re right. I am too old—too old to keep waiting for someone who doesn’t care about my happiness. Enjoy your fishing trip; you’ll have to pay for it yourself.” Then, I left.
The moment I stepped off the plane in Athens, I felt something shift. The air was lighter, warmer. I walked through ancient ruins, stood on a cliff in Santorini, and felt free for the first time in years. I wore the swimsuit I bought and felt beautiful.
One night in Santorini, I met Michael, sitting alone in a café. We struck up a conversation and shared dinner, talking for hours. We spent the rest of the trip exploring, drinking cocktails, and laughing. Michael saw me as a woman who wanted to live.
When I returned home, Dan was gone, having moved in with his brother. Instead of feeling lost, I felt relief. I was free. Now, months later, I’m still in touch with Michael, waiting to see what happens next.
