While showering in my hotel, I suddenly felt someone watching me. Turning off the water, I heard footsteps and saw my clothes on the floor. Someone called out, “Housekeeping!” but I hadn’t requested service—and my “Do Not Disturb” sign was up.
Peeking out, I noticed the closet door slightly open. Grabbing a lamp for protection, I swung it open—only to find an envelope taped inside. It read: “Sorry, this is the only way I could get your attention. I need to talk to you. —T.”
Tavian. My ex-fiancé who disappeared two weeks before our wedding in Barcelona, leaving me with unpaid bills and no explanation.
Then my phone buzzed: a text from an unknown number, “Room 317. Please. Just five minutes.”
Despite my doubts, I went. Tavian opened the door—older, tired, silent.
He explained his disappearance: his father was arrested for fraud, and Tavian was forced into witness protection, vanishing to keep us both safe.
He’d been in hiding for 14 months and only just got out. He was scared I’d hate him.
I admitted I did—until now.
He never stopped loving me.
He showed me an old photo, saying he came as soon as he saw I was at the hotel.
I didn’t promise anything but agreed to talk.
Sometimes, people disappear not because they stop loving you, but because they think it’s the only way to protect you.
Forgiveness isn’t forgetting—it’s healing. And sometimes, healing opens the door to a second chance.
