For a long time, Deb had one dream: to go on an incredible trip to Greece. But her husband, Dan, always put it off. As Deb reached her 60s, she decided to take control of her dream and use all her savings to finally make the trip happen. But when she returned, would Dan still be there?
Greece had always been my dream destination. I could picture myself strolling through the ruins of Athens, watching the sun set over the sparkling waters of Santorini, the whitewashed cliffs glowing in the evening light. It was dreamy, right? That vision kept me going through the grind of life—the endless sacrifices, the pressure of work. Greece was my escape, my reward after years of holding it together.
But as Dan talked more about his debt, I realized I needed to start saving seriously if I wanted to make this trip happen. I worked as a private chef, juggling two families each week. To earn extra money, I started taking on personal orders for custom cakes and desserts. One evening, when I was too tired to cook, I ordered pizza for dinner instead.
“Why are you overdoing it at work, Deb?” Dan asked, his brow furrowed.
“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 pressed.
Dan softened a bit and poured me a glass of wine. “Of course, darling,” he said. “I’m just stressed out at work. Teaching math to kids who don’t want to learn is tough.”
“It’s okay,” I said, unsure if he was being sincere. “I promise you, Deb, I’m all for it,” he added.
I thought we were in this together. But every time I brought up our trip, Dan would just say something like “next year.” And when “next year” rolled around, there was always 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 that before we think about a holiday.”
I told myself it was fine. We’d eventually go, right? That’s what people did—they postponed things and enjoyed them later when life settled down. But life never really settled down. Instead, the years zipped by without a single mention of the trip. By the time I was almost 65, I’d saved enough for both of us. And it wasn’t just a small amount—I could easily afford business-class tickets and five-star hotels.
I decided I wasn’t waiting anymore. I planned everything—a two-week dream vacation to Athens, Santorini, and Mykonos, places I’d 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’d worked so hard for.
One evening, I sat Dan down and cooked him 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, his fork poised mid-air, and barely glanced at me before letting out a sharp laugh.
“Greece? Deb, really? At your age?” he said cynically.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I froze, feeling my heart sink. He leaned back, shaking his head as if I had lost my mind. It was like he was explaining something to one of his students.
“I mean, come on, Greece?” he said, shaking his head. “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.”
The way he said it made my skin crawl. I sat there, stunned, trying to understand how the man I’d been married to for decades could say something so hurtful.
“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. “Yeah, well, maybe you should set your sights on something more… reasonable. How about a trip to a cabin or to 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 speak. “This is my dream, Dan,” I said simply.
His expression hardened. He threw his half-eaten lamb chop onto his plate. “Your dream is a waste of time and money, Deb. 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’d been waiting for him. I put off my happiness, my freedom, my dream because I thought we were in this together. It was supposed to be Dan and me forever, discovering Greece as a couple. But we weren’t. He’d never cared about my dream.
I stood up, pushing my chair back hard. “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 dared to do before. I booked the trip for the very next day. Two weeks in Greece—no hesitation, no checking with Dan. It was all 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 might start to despise Dan.
The moment I stepped off the plane in Athens, I felt a shift within me. The air was different—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.
Of course, I wore the swimsuit I 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. He was sitting alone in a café, a kind smile on his face as he looked 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 asked, 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 the connection I hadn’t realized I was missing. Michael saw me, really saw me, not as someone who was “too old” or past her prime, but as a woman who wanted to live her life fully. Greece was everything I wanted and needed, and more.
When I finally returned home, I found that Dan was gone. He’d packed up and left, but there was 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, waiting to see what happens next.
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