But as Dan began discussing his mounting debt more frequently, I realized that if I wanted to make our dream trip a reality, I needed to start saving more aggressively. At the time, I was a private chef, working for two families each week. To boost my income, I took on additional personal orders for custom cakes and desserts.
One evening, after a long day of work, I was too exhausted to cook and ordered pizza for dinner. “Why are you overdoing it at work, Deb?” Dan asked, glancing up from his phone.
“Because I want to save money, Dan,” I replied simply. “I want to get us to Greece.”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake, Deborah. When will you stop talking about Greece?” he muttered.
“I’ll stop when I go. Don’t you want to come with me?” I asked, hoping to spark some enthusiasm.
Dan softened a bit and poured me a glass of wine. “Of course, darling. I’m sorry, I’m just stressed out at work. Being a math teacher to kids who don’t want to learn is really tough.”
“It’s okay,” I said, unsure whether he was being sincere. “I promise you, Deb, I’m all for it,” he insisted.
Naturally, I assumed we would work toward this trip together. But each time I brought it up, Dan would deflect, saying things like, “Next year.” And when “next year” arrived, there would always be an excuse: “Work is too busy, Deb.” “I can’t afford to take time off.” “The geyser is broken, and the dishwasher is on its way out. We need to prioritize those before thinking about a holiday.”
I convinced myself that it was alright. After all, we’d go eventually, right? That’s what people do—they put off things for a while and then enjoy them when life settles down. Only, life never truly settled. The years flew by, and by the time I was almost 65, I had saved enough for both of us to go. It wasn’t just a small amount—I could easily afford business-class tickets and 5-star hotels.
Determined not to wait any longer, I planned everything—a two-week dream vacation to Athens, Santorini, and Mykonos, the beautiful places I had only ever seen in travel magazines. I even bought myself a new swimsuit, something I hadn’t done in years. I wanted to feel good, feel alive, and finally enjoy the life I had worked so hard to build.
One evening, I sat Dan down and made his favorite lamb chops and roasted potatoes to sweeten the deal. “Dan,” I began, “I’ve saved enough. Let’s go to Greece for my 65th birthday.”
He looked up from his phone, fork poised in mid-air, and let out a sharp laugh. “Greece? Deb, really? At your age?” he scoffed.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, freezing in shock.
Dan leaned back in his chair, shaking his head as if I had lost my mind and he needed to explain it slowly, like I was one of his students. “I mean, come on, Greece? You’re too old for that now, aren’t you? What are you going to do there, walk around in that silly swimsuit you bought? No one wants to see that. You don’t want to parade around in front of a bunch of young people.”
His words felt like a slap. I sat there, stunned, struggling to understand how the man I had been married to for decades could say something so cruel. “I’ve been saving for this trip for years, Dan. We’ve always talked about going together. I want to enjoy it with you.”
He shrugged dismissively. “Yeah, well, maybe you should set your sights on something more… reasonable. How about a trip to a cabin or the beach? Something nice and quiet where you can sit and read. Greece is for people half our age. You’re not twenty anymore.”
My throat tightened, but I forced myself to respond. “This is my dream, Dan.” His expression hardened, and he threw his half-eaten lamb chop onto his plate. “Your dream is a waste of time and money. Speaking of which, why don’t you give me that money you’ve saved? I’ve been thinking about a fishing trip with the guys. That’s a much better use of the money. You don’t need to blow it on some ridiculous fantasy.”
That’s when something inside me snapped. All those years I had waited for him, putting off my happiness, my freedom, my dream because I thought we were in this together. It was supposed to be Dan and me forever, exploring Greece as a couple. But he had never truly cared about my dream.
I stood up, pushing my chair back forcefully. “I’m going to Greece, Dan,” I declared.
“Sure you are,” he scoffed.
The next morning, while Dan was out, I did something I had never had the courage to do before. I booked the trip for the next day—two weeks in Greece. No hesitation, no checking with Dan. It was just about me and what I wanted.
I packed my bags, grabbed a pen, and left a note on the kitchen counter:
“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. I didn’t know what would happen next, and honestly, I didn’t care. I just knew that if I stayed, I’d never forgive myself—and I would start to despise Dan.
The moment I stepped off the plane in Athens, I felt a shift within me. The air was lighter and warmer. I wasn’t waiting anymore. I walked through ancient ruins, the history washing over me like a wave. I stood on a cliff in Santorini, and for the first time in years, I felt free.
And yes, I wore the swimsuit I had bought. And you know what? I felt beautiful in it. I didn’t care what anyone thought. I was finally living my life.
Then, something magical happened. One lovely night in Santorini, I met Michael, who sat alone in a café, a kind smile gracing his face as he gazed out at the water. We struck up a conversation, and before I knew it, we were sharing dinner, talking for hours about our lives.
“A personal chef?” he said, raising his eyebrows. “That’s impressive.”
“I love using my hands,” I replied. “And there’s an intimacy to cooking that I adore.”
We spent the rest of the trip together—exploring islands, drinking cocktails, laughing over meals, and savoring a connection I hadn’t realized I was missing. Michael saw me—not as someone “too old” or past her prime, but as a woman eager to embrace life. Greece was everything I wanted and needed, and more.
When I returned home, Dan was gone. He had packed up and left, leaving behind a note saying he had moved in with his brother.
Instead of feeling abandoned or lost, I felt relief. I was free. Now, months later, I’m still in touch with Michael, excited to see what the future holds.
What would you have done? If you enjoyed this story, here’s another:
My Boyfriend Invited Me on a ‘Proposal’ Trip and Spent It With His Best Friend Instead
When Ella’s boyfriend, Ian, plans a romantic getaway to Santorini, she takes the hint that a proposal is on its way. But when they arrive, they are surprised by the arrival of Ian’s best friend, Mark. Will Ella get her dream getaway, or will it end in disaster?
I’ve never been the girl with a strict timeline for dating. I had been with Ian for two years and knew we were headed toward marriage, but I wasn’t worried about timing. Yet for the past six months, Ian had been dropping hints about an “unforgettable surprise” planned for our summer trip to Santorini.
Every time I pressed for details, he just flashed a mysterious smile and said, “You’ll see, Ella. Just you wait.” And Ian wasn’t exactly one for surprises; he tended to let things slip easily. He’d casually browse engagement rings online, leaving the tabs open for me to find.
One quiet night in, he even asked me what my dream wedding looked like. “I just want to picture what you see when you think about it,” he said.
Naturally, I was bursting with excitement. Was this really it? Was Ian finally going to propose? The weeks flew by, and before I knew it, we were packing for our trip.
“I can’t believe we’re finally doing this!” Ian exclaimed, pulling more clothes from his closet to pack.
