It felt strange waking up and sensing something was off that Monday in February—neither good nor bad, just different.
I made coffee and found my husband, John, at the table, buried in his phone. He looked uneasy and finally said, “Julia, please listen. I’m leaving tomorrow.” South, he said. Sunshine, beach. He’d bought the ticket.
I was stunned. We’d been saving for a vacation together for two years. “And me?” I asked. My leave wasn’t even approved. He shrugged as if his work didn’t matter. I noticed new, flashy clothes in his suitcase—unusual for him. Before leaving, he joked, “I’ll get you a fridge magnet.”
Then his phone buzzed. A preview read: “Baby, I’m already at the airport waiting for you at…” My heart sank.
I rushed to the airport. I saw him with a young woman in his shirt, hugging and laughing. Shocked and heartbroken, I collapsed into tears as snow began to fall. A stranger approached, offering warmth and kindness. He introduced himself as Roli, an unemployed engineer. I invited him home.
He bathed, warmed up, and we ate soup. He told me how he’d lost everything—wife, job, home. It was clear we both had lost something. I shared my story: John’s betrayal and our broken savings. “I’m getting a divorce,” I told him.
That night, John returned—successful, confident, leading a team—only to find the locks changed and divorce papers served. I’d moved on.
Roli, now well-dressed and employed thanks to an opportunity he found that night, gently explained how he’d been thinking of me the whole time.
And that’s how a Monday in February changed everything.