Chapter 1 

Lena

A swirl of damp heat hits me the moment I step off the airport shuttle and onto the sweeping driveway of the Coral Bay Paradise Resort. Every cell in my body feels slick with sweat, but the ocean breeze that tangles itself in my hair is a welcome reprieve. Bright, cheerful hibiscus bushes line the walkway, their petals practically glowing in the late-afternoon sun. It’s the kind of scenery you’d see on a glossy travel brochure—except I’m here in real life, wishing I could somehow appreciate it more than I do right now.

I roll my carry-on behind me, each crack in the pavement jarring my already-frayed nerves. It’s weird how something as trivial as a suitcase wheel catching on a bump can feel like an enormous irritation when you’re running on emotional fumes. I pause and tip my head back to study the high, arched facade of the resort. Light pink stucco walls, white trimming, and the glint of glass doors. It’s stunning. Romantic, even. Perfect for honeymooners. Or couples. Or anyone who isn’t a washed-out divorcée with battered self-esteem, a bruised heart, and the leftover shards of dreams that never came true.

A small, tightness churns in my chest, but I push it down. This is a vacation, I remind myself, courtesy of my best friend, Avery—someone who insisted I needed a break from everything that’s gone wrong in my life over the past year. And right now, as I wipe the sweat off my upper lip with a shaky hand, I’m wondering if any place on earth can really give me a reset. God, I hope so.

A tall set of glass doors whoosh open as I approach, revealing a blast of refreshing air-conditioning and a gleaming marble lobby beyond. Avery stands just inside, beaming, her thick dark hair pinned up in a messy bun that somehow looks effortless and chic. She’s wearing an off-the-shoulder turquoise maxi dress that sways around her ankles when she waves at me.

“You finally made it!” she exclaims, rushing over to hug me in a blur of warm perfume and tinkling bracelets. “I was starting to worry you got lost at baggage claim.”

I stiffen automatically, still not fully used to casual embraces, but manage to melt a bit into her hold. “I had to find the stupid shuttle. You’d think in an airport this small, it’d be obvious, but no.” I drag in a slow breath. “Anyway, I’m here. Thanks again for inviting me.” I say this last part softly—almost sheepishly—because gratitude never quite fits right in my throat these days. Especially after the pitying tilt of everyone’s head once news got out that my marriage ended, that I…couldn’t give my ex-husband what he wanted.

Avery’s smile widens. “Trust me, you’re doing me a favor. I don’t want to lounge around this dreamy place by myself. If I had to spend the week alone, I’d go bonkers.” She glances pointedly at the front desk. “Let’s check in, get you a room key, and then I say we celebrate with mojitos by the pool.”

That sounds good. Overly sweet cocktails might temporarily trick my brain into forgetting the hyperactive swirl of grief that’s plagued me for months. “Lead the way,” I reply, trailing behind her toward the check-in counter.

The lobby is a cathedral of sunlight—massive windows framing the distant turquoise ocean, and potted palm trees strategically placed around plush seating areas. The overhead fans spin lazily. There’s a faint smell of coconut, maybe from a candle or diffuser, giving the space an indulgent, spa-like feel. It’s everything my daily life in Pennsylvania has been missing: brightness, warmth, possibility.

A cheerful receptionist, wearing a crisp white polo embroidered with the resort’s logo, greets us. “Good afternoon! Welcome to Coral Bay Paradise. May I have your names?”

Avery does most of the talking—she tends to sparkle in any customer-service interaction. Meanwhile, I drum my fingers on the cool marble countertop and let my gaze wander, trying to appreciate the extravagant decor without letting my perpetual heaviness weigh me down.

“You’re in adjoining suites,” the receptionist finally announces. “Rooms 1203 and 1204, ocean view. We can send up your luggage if you’d like.”

“Thanks,” I say. I try to match Avery’s bright enthusiasm, but I’m not sure it fully lands. My mind is already wandering to the swirl of nightmares I fought last night—the old arguments with my ex, the hospital waiting rooms, the doctor’s solemn shakes of the head. I swallow hard. Not here, Lena. Don’t bring that into paradise with you.

Avery loops her arm through mine once the keycards are handed over. “Come on. Let’s see the rooms, freshen up, then we can go soak in that Caribbean sun.”

As we cross the lobby, I let her chatter fill the silence. She’s listing off the resort amenities—apparently there’s a beachside buffet dinner tonight, a lounge with nightly live music, and a bunch of water sports I’ll probably avoid. Still, the idea of stepping into crystal-clear water lures me. If I can’t wash away memories, at least I can float for a while.

We find the elevator bank tucked near an indoor garden. Before the doors open, I notice Avery’s eyes flit momentarily across the lobby, lingering on a cluster of business types in suits. She has this odd, flickering expression for a second—something like curiosity laced with…anticipation? She turns back to me with a radiant smile, and I shrug it off, chalking it up to Avery’s typical social magnetism. She can’t resist surveying a room, always on the lookout for interesting people.

“In we go,” she sings, dragging me into the elevator car.

The doors slide shut, and the gentle hum of ascent buzzes underfoot. Avery’s reflection in the mirrored panel flickers with excitement, but when I meet her gaze in the reflection, she quickly focuses on me instead. “So, how are you really feeling?” she asks, her voice softer than usual.

I know what she’s asking about. My divorce was finalized three months ago. I had to box up the last of my illusions about having a family—children—of feeling complete. Sometimes, I still wonder if I’m supposed to say something comforting like, “I’m fine” or “I’m over it.” But that’d be a lie. So instead, I give her the partial truth. “I’m trying to…not think about it too much. This is step one, right? A new environment, a new start.”

Avery squeezes my hand. “Exactly. Fresh ocean air fixes everything. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.”

Her eyes dart again, but we’re in an elevator, so I’m not sure what she’s looking for. Maybe just nerves. I can’t help but be suspicious that something’s going on in that head of hers, but I brush it aside—she’s probably just concerned about how fragile I’ve been.

We reach the twelfth floor, and Avery leads the way down a wide hallway with cream walls and a plush teal carpet that muffles our footsteps. Our suites are at the very end, overlooking the beach. We step inside mine, and a wave of air-conditioned coolness, tinged with faint citrus, washes over us.

The suite is massive—far bigger than anything I expected. There’s a king-sized bed draped with a crisp white duvet, a sitting area with a loveseat and coffee table, and a balcony that promises an ocean view. I drop my carry-on bag near the door, moving to the sliding glass doors that open onto the balcony. When I slide one open, the curtains billow around me, inviting me to step outside.

“Holy—” I breathe, taking in the panoramic view of the water. The horizon is a brilliant blue, and palm trees sway like languid dancers along the shoreline. I inhale the salty air, letting the rush of distant waves fill my ears.

Avery sets her purse down and joins me. “Worth the flight, right?”

Something akin to hope flutters in my chest. “It is,” I whisper, feeling the sun kiss my face from the balcony. For a moment, I allow myself to imagine I can leave behind all the baggage and heartbreak. Maybe this trip could be the break I need.

Avery sighs contentedly. “Let’s get changed. Bathing suits, then a drink or two. I want you to see the pool area—it’s got this infinity edge that looks out over the beach. Promise me you’ll at least try to have fun?”

I roll my eyes but smile. “Fine. If it includes rum punch with those little umbrellas, I’m in.” I can’t be wholeheartedly enthusiastic, but I owe it to Avery—and maybe to myself—to give it a try.

She squeezes my arm again before stepping back into the room. “I’ll be next door. Yell if you need anything.”

When the door closes behind her, I’m left in a sudden hush broken only by the soft noise of the air conditioner. My heart thuds in my chest. This resort is beautiful, a sanctuary that feels a world away from the gray gloom that has settled over my life the past year. I allow myself a tight-lipped smile. Perhaps, I can finally breathe without feeling a crushing weight on my lungs.

I fish out my cell phone and glance at the lock screen—no new messages. No surprise. My ex-husband rarely reached out even when we were married, especially after he pinned the blame for our childlessness on me. My stomach twists, memories creeping in. The humiliating doctor’s visits, the stares of pity from his family, the feeling that I’d failed at the most basic biological function. Then the final blow: he left, and I was forced to realize it was never just about kids. It was about how easily he turned me into a scapegoat for his own shortcomings.

Gritting my teeth, I refuse to let that darkness swallow me now. I change into a simple black one-piece swimsuit—something supportive that doesn’t flash too much skin, yet I still hope it might help me feel a hint of confidence. I rummage for a flowy cover-up, slip my feet into sandals, and make sure to tie my hair into a low bun.

Just as I’m about to step out, Avery taps on my door. “Ready?”

I open it to find her looking resort-glam in a brightly printed bikini top paired with a sarong. Her expression brightens at the sight of me. “Oh, that’s perfect on you!”

“Thanks,” I murmur, feeling self-conscious but determined. “Lead on.”

We head down the hallway, the smell of coconut and vacation swirling in the air. I can’t ignore the slight spring in Avery’s step, like she’s got a little secret. But I dismiss it—maybe she’s just happy I’m trying to loosen up.

The elevator ride back down is quick, and soon we’re weaving through the lobby out to the pool deck. The space is as glamorous as Avery promised: a sprawling infinity pool that seems to blend into the ocean beyond. Couples lounge on padded chairs under white umbrellas. A poolside bar staffed by an impossibly tan bartender displays rows of colorful bottles. Music with a lively island beat thrums from hidden speakers.

Avery flags down a server. “Two mojitos, please. Extra mint.” She winks, and the server nods with a polite smile.

I claim a lounger near the pool’s edge, letting my cover-up drop onto it before sliding my feet into the water. The sun dips lower in the sky, painting everything in a soft, golden glow. The setting is so peaceful that, for a second, I imagine I might actually forget all the heartbreak that shadows me.

“Cheers,” Avery says when the mojitos arrive in tall glasses. She hands one to me, then tilts hers toward mine for a light clink of glass. “To new beginnings and ocean breezes.”

I take a sip, the citrus-lime tang mixing with the punch of rum. It’s refreshing, maybe even a little freeing. I sigh and close my eyes, letting the sun warm my shoulders.

We make small talk—about the flight, about the spa menu, about how Avery definitely wants to try paddleboarding. It’s a relief to converse about trivialities instead of the usual gloom. My muscles slowly relax, a sensation that feels foreign after months of anxiety coiling in every fiber of my being.

“By the way,” Avery says, swirling her straw, “I thought I saw a familiar face in the lobby when you arrived. But maybe I was wrong. Must’ve just been someone who reminded me of…someone from home.”

Her casual tone piques my curiosity. “Someone we know?”

She shrugs. “No, forget it. Probably just my eyes playing tricks.”

Something about her quick dismissals sets off a small alarm in my head. But I let it drop. Maybe she’s not in a mood to talk about it. Instead, I lean back against the lounger, sip my drink, and watch the sky melt into watercolor hues of orange, pink, and gold. For a moment, I permit a tentative bud of hope to bloom in my chest. Maybe this trip is exactly what I need.

Eventually, we wander to the pool’s edge, letting the water lap at our thighs as the horizon swallows the sun. The last rays of daylight spark across the ocean, and the breeze carries a gentle hush of rustling palms. Here, in this serene moment, I can almost—almost—forget that I’m the woman whose life plan imploded. That not so long ago, I believed I’d be a wife, a mother, a nurturer of a real family. Now, I’m merely an ex, saddled with doubts and regrets.

Still, I inhale the salt-laced air and make myself a promise: for this trip, I will try. I’ll do the activities Avery plans, I’ll sip fancy drinks, I’ll lounge in the sun. I’ll remind myself that life can be more than heartbreak.

When night falls, the resort staff lights tiki torches around the pool deck, and the gentle glow dances on the water’s surface. It’s enchanting enough that I find myself forgetting about my phone, my ex-husband, the fertility nightmares. All I care about is the crash of the distant waves and the soft laughter drifting from other vacationers.

Avery sets her empty glass down on the small table between us. “I’m starving. Let’s get dinner.”

I push myself off the lounger. “Sure. Give me a minute to throw on my cover-up.”

We gather our things and walk toward the open-air restaurant. The hum of conversation mingles with the tropical music playing in the background. My stomach growls, reminding me I haven’t eaten since that questionable airport sandwich hours ago.

“Welcome, ladies!” a hostess greets us brightly and shows us to a table with a perfect view of the moonlit ocean.

Avery and I settle into seats, and I let out a little sigh of contentment, skimming the menu. Fresh seafood, tropical salads, fruit platters—it all sounds amazing. Our server, another impossibly tanned island local, takes our orders and promises to bring bread within a few minutes.

I’m just about to comment on how hungry I am when I catch Avery glancing around again, like she’s searching for someone. I tilt my head. “You sure you’re okay? You keep scanning the crowd.”

She waves me off. “I’m fine. I just—this place is so gorgeous, right? You never know who you might run into.” Her tone is upbeat, but there’s a tension in her eyes I can’t quite decipher.

I don’t press. I’m too busy trying to preserve the fragile peace I’ve found in the hum of waves and the sweet tang of mojito still on my tongue. We fill the time talking about spa appointments Avery insists on booking for us—massages, facials, maybe even a yoga class. It’s all part of her mission to get me to live a little, as she calls it.

Our food arrives—mine a platter of grilled mahi-mahi with mango salsa, Avery’s a coconut shrimp dish. We dig in, occasionally exclaiming how delicious everything tastes. It’s a welcome distraction from the heaviness I carried in my suitcase along with my flip-flops.

Eventually, the conversation winds down as we polish off dessert—some luscious chocolate lava cake that nearly makes me moan at the table. I feel pleasantly drowsy, my limbs heavy from sun and swimming, my heart a fraction lighter than it was this morning.

Avery tosses her napkin onto the table. “I’ll head to the bar and settle the bill with our room tab. Then I’m thinking we call it an early night? You look wiped.”

She’s right. Exhaustion tugs at me like an insistent child. But it’s a good kind of tired, not the soul-crushing fatigue I’ve become accustomed to. “Yeah,” I agree, standing up. “Thanks again for dinner.”

She nods, and I wander slowly back through the pool area, weaving around empty loungers and flickering torches. The night air clings to my skin, but the breeze is gentler now, cooler. I pause near the edge of the deck to look at the moon reflecting across the water, forming a silver path that dances on the ocean.

I feel something like possibility flicker in my chest. Maybe this trip can be a turning point. Maybe I’m not as broken as I think. After all, I survived the worst that heartbreak had to offer. A short vacation in paradise can’t hurt, right?

Something behind me shifts—a soft footstep or movement—and I turn instinctively. But I see no one. Probably just another late-night guest or a staff member moving around. Yet a strange sense of being watched prickles along my nape. Silly. I brush it off. This is a public area, after all. I’m not used to feeling so exposed, so vulnerable, after spending months holed up in my apartment nursing my wounds.

Shaking my head, I continue inside the lobby. The staff smiles politely as I pass, the air-conditioning cooling the sheen of sweat on my skin. I take the elevator back up to the twelfth floor, every muscle yawning for rest. By the time I’m standing at my suite door, I realize I never even checked to see if Avery had followed me. Maybe she’s at the bar, flirting with the bartender or finishing up the tab.

I swipe my keycard, and the lock beeps open. The suite is just as I left it—quiet, softly lit by a single table lamp. My luggage has been delivered, and I take a moment to rummage for the few toiletries I need before a shower. I let the hot water run, steam curling in the air, and then step under the spray, letting it wash away the chlorine, salt, and tension. Another attempt to scrub away the pain, the guilt, the doubts that clung to me all year.

When I finally tumble into bed, my damp hair against the pillow, I feel more content than I have in months. Maybe I can do this—maybe I can reclaim a piece of myself here in paradise. The last thought that crosses my mind before sleep claims me is a simple, whispered prayer to the darkness: Please let tomorrow bring something good.