I Got Stuck in a Foreign Country and My Only Way Home Was My Sister’s Ex-Husband

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Being tired from work and playing therapist to my heartbroken sister, I bought a random plane ticket just to relax again.

Mexico promised escape—until I boarded the flight… and sitting near the one man I never wanted to see again: her ex-husband.

I dragged myself home like I was hauling bricks on my back after the longest shift of my week.

Every step felt like I was walking through thick mud.

I turned on the faucet, splashed cold water on my face, and took a deep breath. Then another.

No time for weakness. Not now.

Not with her here.

“I’m home,” I said, loud enough to carry down the hall.

From the bedroom, I heard it—the sound I’d grown used to.

Jolene appeared in the hallway, wrapped in my old flannel robe, her eyes red and puffy.

“Hey,” I said gently.

Her voice had been gone for days, swallowed by sadness.

It had been a full month since she moved in.

A full month since Dean left her, without notifications or even a half-decent excuse.

Since then, she’d barely eaten, barely slept.

That night, after I made us dinner and watched her push peas around her plate, I cleaned the dishes while she curled up on the couch, another quiet storm breaking behind her eyes.

I walked up to the counter and said, “Give me the first ticket out of here.”

“Cancún, Mexico,” the woman said.

Perfect.

I smiled for the first time in weeks. Not a forced smile. A real one.

Until I boarded the plane.

And there he was.

Dean.

Of all the people on Earth, why him?

He said something I couldn’t understand, gesturing toward a dusty blue car parked nearby.

I gave a nervous laugh, pulled out my phone, and opened the translator app.

“I need a hotel,” I typed.

He leaned in, read it, and nodded quickly. “Sí, sí,” he said, pointing again at the car and then to my suitcase.

“Wow. Full service,” I muttered.

He took it like it weighed nothing, opened the trunk, tossed it in, and gave me another wide grin.

But before I could reach the door, the engine roared.

“Wait!” I shouted.

Too late.

He hit the gas and sped off, my suitcase bouncing in the trunk like a final insult.

I just stood there.

Frozen. Mouth open. Mind empty.

He stole it.

He really stole it. My bag. My passport.

My wallet. My clothes. All of it.

Gone.

I sat down hard on the steps outside the airport, my knees wobbly.

“Susan?”

I looked up.

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