I wasn’t looking for love that Tuesday in the hardware store—just trying not to drop curtain rods on my head.
“Need a hand?” came a warm voice behind me. I turned to see a smiling guy with a wrench in his back pocket.
“Unless you want to watch me get crushed,” I joked.
He lifted the box with ease. “Daniel,” he said, handing it over.
“Sarah. Thanks for saving me from death by décor.”
We clicked instantly—jokes, burritos, and big dreams in his old truck. I helped boutiques with retail systems; he fixed pipes, building a client base. We didn’t have much, but we had heart. Six months later, he proposed with a simple silver ring in the park. I said yes.
We saved every dollar for our October wedding, stashing it in a little lockbox we called “the dream fund.” By September, we’d hit $3,000. Then, I woke up one day—and Daniel was gone. So was the money.
No note. No explanation. Just silence.
Days later, I got a call from the train station: someone found my old duffel bag—Daniel had grabbed it by mistake. Inside? Every dollar. Untouched.
While collecting it, I ran into Marcus, an old friend of my late father. He offered me a job—and a second chance.
Daniel? Turns out he’d fled town to escape gambling debts and got arrested. Karma.
I stood in my new office, a city at my feet, dream fund safe again. Sometimes heartbreak clears the path for the life you were meant to live.
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