Our trip to Santorini had been planned for **over a year.**
I’d counted down the days, carefully packed my outfits, arranged everything with my mom so she could stay with the kids.
Then—just as I zipped my suitcase—my phone buzzed.
**Him:** *”Hey babe, change of plans. Our trip is off. We’ll talk when I’m back.”*
I blinked. **Read it again.** And again.
What?
I immediately called him.
**Me:** “Where are you?”
**Him:** “Airport. We’re boarding now.”
**Me:** “We? What are you talking about?”
**Him:** “Look, I knew you’d be reasonable. Love you!”
*Click.*
The line went **dead.**
I stood frozen, staring at my packed bags. **He left.** He actually left.
**Without me.**
That’s when I felt it.
The slow, boiling **rage.**
No explanation. No discussion. **Nothing.**
I grabbed my laptop and, with shaking hands, checked our flight details. My name was still on the reservation. **The ticket was still valid.**
And then… a thought hit me.
**Why should I stay behind?**
My kids were safe with my mom. The trip was already paid for. **Santorini was waiting.**
And so was **he.**
So, I did the only thing that made sense.
I grabbed my passport, **headed straight to the airport,** and boarded the plane.
### **To Confront Him.**