I Accepted a Man’s Invitation to Greece at 55 — But the Person Who Showed Up Wasn’t Me

I flew to Greece at the age of 55 to meet the man I had fell in love with online. However, someone else was already there when I knocked on his door; they were living my tale and wearing my name.

I had been constructing a castle all my life. one brick at a time.

Not a single skyscraper. No knights. Only kids’ lunchboxes that constantly smelt like apples, a microwave that beeped like a heart monitor, dried-out markers, and restless nights.

My daughter was raised by me alone.

When she was three years old, her father vanished.

I once told my best friend Rosemary, “One page gone, no warning,” like the fall wind blowing off a calendar.

I had no time to weep.

There were fevers to fight, clothes to wash, and rent to pay. On some nights, I slept with spaghetti on my shirt and in jeans. However, I managed to make it work. No child support, no nanny, no sympathy.

Afterward, my girl grew up.

She married a charming, freckled man who treated me like a lady and carried her luggage as if she were made of glass. relocated to a another state. began a life. She continued to call on Sundays.

“Hello, Mom! You know what? I managed to make lasagna without it burning.

Just for illustration’s sake | Source: Pexels

Every time, I grinned.

“I’m proud of you, baby.”

Then, one morning following her honeymoon, I sat with my broken cup in the kitchen and took a look around. It was really silent. “Where’s my maths book!” can be yelled without anyone. No bouncy ponytails in the corridor. No juice spills to clean up.

Just me at fifty-five. And quiet.

You don’t feel lonely all the time. Soft like nightfall, it creeps in through the glass.

You quit preparing real food. You no longer purchase dresses. As you watch romantic comedies while wrapped on a blanket, you consider:

“Grand passion is not necessary for me. Just a companion to sit with me. Breathe next to me. That would suffice.

Then, like a glitter bomb in a cathedral, Rosemary exploded back into my life.

One afternoon, she strode into my living room wearing shoes too high for reason and exclaimed, “Then sign up for a dating site!”

“I’m 55, Rose. I would much prefer make bread.

She fell onto my couch after rolling her eyes.

Just for illustration’s sake | Source: Pexels

“You have ten years of bread-baking experience! Enough already. You should bake a man at last.

I chuckled. “You make it sound like I can sprinkle him with cinnamon and put him in the oven.”

She pulled out her laptop and whispered, “Honestly, that would be easier than dating at our age.” “Come on over. This is what we’re doing.

I scrolled through my camera roll and thought, “Let me just find a photo where I don’t look like a saint or a school principal,”

“Oh! She held up a photo from my niece’s wedding and said, “This one.” “A gentle smile. exposed shoulder. Stylish but enigmatic. Excellent.

Like a pro speed dater, she clicked and scrolled.

Too many teeth. There are too many fish. Why do they constantly have fish in their possession? Rosemary muttered.

Then she stopped.

“Hold on. This. Look.

And there it was:

“Andreas58, Greece.”

I leaned in. A silent grin. In the background is a small stone house with blue shutters. A garden. olive trees.

“Looks like he smells like olives and calm mornings,” I commented.

“Ooooh,” smiled Rosemary. “And he messaged you FIRST!”

“He did?”

She made a click. His messages were brief. Not a single emoji. No exclamation points. but warm. rooted. Actual. He told me about harvesting salt from the rocks, baking fresh bread with rosemary, the sea, and his garden.

And he wrote on the third day:

“Martha, I would be delighted to have you come see me. Here in Paros.

All I did was look at the screen. Like it hadn’t in years, my heart pounded.

If I’m terrified of romance once more, am I still alive? I mean, could I really get out of my small castle? For a man of olives?

I required Rosemary. So I gave her a call.

“We’re having dinner tonight. Bring some pizza. And whatever it is that gives you that brave energy.”

“This is karma!” Rosemary yelled. “I’ve been digging through dating sites for six months like an archaeologist with a shovel, and you—bam!—you’ve got a ticket to Greece already!”

“It’s not a ticket. It is merely a message.

“From a man from Greece. Olive trees are owned by whom? This isn’t a trip to IKEA. It’s essentially a Nicholas Sparks book in sandals. He’s a man. abroad. I could be wrong and he’s a Pinterest bot.

Rosemary gave an eye roll. “Let’s handle this wisely. I don’t care whether you ask him for photos of his garden or the view from his residence. It will be obvious if he is not real.

“And if he’s not?”

“Then you pack your swimsuit and fly.”

Despite my laughter, I wrote to him. Within an hour, he responded. The pictures arrived like a gentle wind.

The first displayed a lavender-lined, uneven stone pathway. The second was a little, drowsy-eyed donkey standing. The third—a fading green chair and a whitewashed house with blue shutters.

Then a last picture. An airline ticket. It has my name on it. In four days, take off.

I gazed at the screen as though it were a prank. I gave it two blinks. It’s still there.

“Is this taking place? Is this genuinely… real?

“Give me a look! Oh God! Real, of course, foolish! “Pack your bags,” said Rosemary.

“No. Not at all. I’m not leaving. at my age? Flying into a stranger’s arms? It’s how people are included in documentaries.

At first, Rosemary remained silent. simply continued to chew her pizza.

Then she let out a sigh. “All right. I understand. There is a lot of it.

I wrapped my arms around myself and nodded.

My phone buzzed that night after she departed, while I was snuggled under my favourite blanket on the couch.

Rosemary texted: “Consider! I also received an invitation! I’m flying to Bordeaux to see Jean. “Yay!”

“Jean?” I scowled. “She never even mentioned a Jean.”

I spent a lot of time looking at the message.

After that, I stood up, went to my desk, and launched the dating app. I couldn’t help but want to thank him and agree to his proposal in a letter. But there was nothing on the screen.

His profile is no longer there. Our messages are no longer there. Everything is gone.

His account must have been deleted. Most likely believed I had abandoned him. I still had the address, though. It was one of the first messages he sent. On the back of a grocery receipt, I had scrawled it.

And I had the picture. as well as the airline ticket.

When else than now? Who else, if not me?

After making myself a cup of tea in the kitchen, I muttered into the darkness,

“Get rid of it. I will travel to Greece.

The sun was like a warm, gentle slap when I got off the ferry in Paros.

The scent of the air had changed. Not like home. It was saltier there. Wilder. My tiny luggage thumped like a child who would not be dragged along on an adventure, so I hauled it behind me.

On windowsills, past slumbering cats stretched as if they had dominated the island for ages. Their doorsteps were being swept by elderly grandmothers wearing black scarves.

On the screen of my phone, I followed the blue dot. Like it hadn’t in years, my heart was racing.

What if he doesn’t show up? What if I’m standing in front of a stranger’s Greek home in this unusual dream?

At the gate, I stopped. Take a deep breath. back of the shoulders. I ran my fingers across the bell. Ding. The door opened with a squeak.

Hold on a minute… What? Absolutely not! Oh, Rosemary!

barefoot. dressed in a flowing white gown. She had just put on lipstick. She had beautiful waves in her hair. She had the appearance of a living yoghurt commercial.

Rosemary? You should have been in France, right?

Like a curious feline, she cocked her head.

Then she purred, “Hello,” “You arrived? That’s so unlike you, sweetheart! You claimed not to be flying. I therefore made the decision to take a gamble.

“You’re pretending to be me?”

In a technical sense, I made your account. taught you everything. I had you as my project. I recently attended the last presentation.

However, how? The account of Andreas vanished. as well as the messages.

“Oh, I took Andreas out of your friend list, erased your communications, and kept the address. In case you decide to alter your mind. I had no idea that you could preserve the ticket or the pictures.

I felt like screaming. to weep. to shout and bang the suitcase down. However, I didn’t. At that moment, a second shadow approached the door.

Andreas

“Hi, ladies.” He turned his gaze from me to her.

Rosemary grabbed his arm and clung to him instantly.

“This is Rosemary, a buddy of mine. She just so happened to show up. Remember what we told you about her?

“Thanks to your invitation, I arrived. However,

He gave me a glance. Like the waves of the sea, his eyes were dark.

“Well, that’s odd. Martha was here earlier, but…

“I’m Martha!” I blubbed.

Rosemary gave a lovely chirp.

“Oh, Andreas, my friend was a little nervous about my departure. She watched me all the time. She must have flown here to make sure you’re not a fraudster and that everything is well.

It was obvious that Rosemary enchanted Andreas. Her antics made him giggle.

“All good, then Remain. You can solve the problem. There is much space here.

The enchantment that was meant to be present has been taken over.

I was playing against my pal. However, I had the opportunity to stay and correct the situation. Even though the truth wasn’t as glittering as Rosemary’s, Andreas earned it.

I grinned and agreed to Rosemary’s game’s terms. “I’ll stay,” I said.

The view was ideal, the dinner was exquisite, and the atmosphere was as tight as Rosemary’s silk shirt after a croissant.

With nowhere else to go, she was all grins and giggles, her voice filling the air like perfume.

“Andreas, do you have any grandkids?” Rosemary purred.

At last! It was there. My opportunity.

“Didn’t he tell you he has a grandson named Richard?” I asked, putting down my fork carefully and looking up with the most composed expression I could muster.

For a moment, Rosemary’s face wavered. Then she became radiant.

“You’re right! “Your… Richard!”

I gave a courteous grin.

I said, staring directly at him, “Oh, Andreas,” but you don’t have a grandson. The person is a granddaughter. Rosie. She enjoys sketching cats on the walls and sporting pink hair ties. And again, what’s the name of her favourite donkey? Yes, exactly. “Professor.”

There was silence at the table. Andreas looked over Rosemary’s shoulder. She paused, then laughed nervously.

“Andreas,” she continued quietly, attempting to seem light-hearted, “I believe Rosemary is making an odd joke. You are aware of my memory.

I saw her hand tremble as it grabbed for her drink.

First mistake. I’m not finished, though.

“And don’t you and Martha have the same pastime, Andreas? The fact that you both like the same things is so adorable.

Rosemary scowled briefly. then sprang to life. “Oh, indeed! Antique stores! That’s great, Andreas. What have you just discovered? There must be a tonne of small treasures on this island.

Andreas put his fork down.

“This area is devoid of antique stores. I also have no interest in antiques.

The second mistake. Rosemary is now responsible. I go on.

Naturally, Andreas. You fix old furniture. You told me that the lovely table you constructed as your last project is still in your garage. Do you recall that you’re meant to sell it to a woman in the neighbourhood?

Andreas scowled before turning to face Rosemary.

“Martha is not you. Why didn’t I notice this sooner? Please show me your passport.

She made an effort to laugh it off. “Oh, come on, don’t be dramatic…”

However, passports are serious. Everything was on the table like a restaurant bill a minute later. Not a surprise. It’s just an ugly reality.

Andreas turned back to Rosemary and murmured, “I’m sorry,” in a quiet voice. “But I didn’t invite you.”

The smile on Rosemary’s face broke. She got to her feet quickly.

“Martha is really dull! She never improvises, is calm, and always considers her options! Living with her will be like being in a museum.

“I fell for her for precisely that reason. for paying close attention to details. For the silences. For not jumping into things too quickly: she was looking for the truth, not thrills.

“Oh, I just seized the moment to build happiness!” Rosemary shouted. “Martha was too slow and less invested than I was.”

Andreas retorted, “You were more concerned with the schedule than the individual.” “You enquired about the beaches, internet speed, and house size. Martha is aware of the colours of Rosie’s ribbons.

With a sigh, Rosemary reached for her luggage.

“All right, dress up! But in three days, you’ll flee from her. You’ll become weary of the quiet. and the buns every day.

With the ferocity of a tornado in heels, she hurried around the home like a cyclone, packing clothes into her suitcase. Then—slam. The frame of the door trembled.

I simply sat on the terrace with Andreas. In the distance, the sea murmured. The darkness encircled us like a cosy blanket.

We sipped herbal tea silently.

“Stay for a week,” he eventually said.

I gave him a look. “What if I never want to leave?”

“Then we’ll buy another toothbrush.”

And next week…

We chuckled. We made buns. With sticky fingers, we picked olives. Silently, we strolled along the shore.

I was not treated like a visitor. It wasn’t like I was just a tourist. I was alive. I also felt like I was home.

I was urged to stay a little while longer by Andreas. Furthermore, I wasn’t in a haste to return.

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