They only exist in movies, books, and a few television shows. When I arrive at the hotel, it’s almost five. The concierge reminds me my dinner will be ready by the beach. There’s a big box on top of the bed.

When I open it, I find the pink dress I fell in love with at the Christian Dior boutique but refused to buy because it was too expensive. Hope sparks inside me.

What if he came back?

Maybe I misjudged him. He’s known to travel back and forth during the same day. That’s probably what he did, and here I was, being a total bitch about today. I take a shower, straighten my hair, and put on makeup before slipping into the gorgeous dress. Instead of heels, I wear my sandals and rush to meet him.

When I arrive at the beach and find the table with candles and a chef, my heart stops and all the hope dies at once.

Miller isn’t here.

“Would you like me to serve, Mrs. Archer, or wait until your husband is here?”

“I’ll wait,” I say, instead of, I’m not hungry and all I want is to go home and curl under the blankets.

My phone rings with an unknown number.

“Hello,” I answer.

“Happy birthday, sweetie,” Mom is on the other side of the line. “I knew you’d turn on your phone.”

“Mom,” it’s all I can say because if I try to speak, I know I’ll be crying like a baby.

But I can’t hold the tears when I hear a chorus singing “Happy Birthday.” Why did I choose to leave town? I could be at home with my family. Instead, I accepted some nonsense proposition that landed me by myself, nursing a stupid glass of wine, waiting for a man who isn’t real.

“We just wanted to wish you a happy birthday, baby,” Mom says.

“Happy birthday, Claire Bear,” Dad yells.

“Bring me back some tequila.” I think that’s Thomas.

“Happy birthday, little sister,” says Nikki, and I hear Lucifer and Valerie say the same.

“Thank you,” I manage to answer with a firm voice.

“Well, we’ll leave you to celebrate. I have all your flight details, sweetie. Dad and I will be there to pick you up.”

“See you Thursday, Mom.”

As I hang up the phone, I find myself lonelier. I did this to myself, and a part of me wants to be strong and stop feeling stupid, embarrassed and…why did I let myself believe in a fantasy?

Next Monday, I’m going to have to face him and what am I supposed to say?

“You fucking asshole, I can’t believe you left me alone.” Or the usual, “Mr. Archer,” and ignore him, while avoiding him because the man has seen me naked, vulnerable, and my skin prickles just at the thought of what’s going to happen next week.