Just days before my peaceful coastal bachelorette trip, I realized my passport was missing. My fiancé, Derek, promised to help me find it—but something about his calmness felt off. As days passed and hope faded, I started to suspect: someone didn’t want me to go.
I’d planned a quiet getaway with my best friends—yoga, pottery, tea by the sea. Derek, though, had always been possessive. Protective, he called it. He said he trusted me, just not the world around me.
When I asked about my missing passport, he claimed he hadn’t seen it, but helped me search half-heartedly. I tried to believe him—until my friend Tasha arrived with her boyfriend, Mark. Mark pulled me aside and confessed: Derek had hidden my passport in his suitcase, afraid I’d cheat.
Crushed, I didn’t confront Derek right away. Instead, I hatched a plan.
The next morning, the girls came over with bags and beach hats. I announced I couldn’t go. Derek, relieved, smiled—until the girls started teasing about wild city plans instead. His jealous outburst confirmed everything.
That’s when I stood up, pulled my passport from my pocket, and said, “You’re right. No bachelorette trip—because there’s no wedding.”
I told him to pack his things and leave.
I did go on that trip—no wild parties, just ocean air, clay-covered hands, and healing laughter. Under the stars, I realized how much I’d let jealousy masquerade as love.
When we got home, Derek was gone. He left a letter full of regrets. I didn’t answer.
Months later, I met someone new at a pottery class. He admired my misshapen mu
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