It had been three years since Sarah's divorce, and she hadn't been on a single date since.
"What is wrong with me?" she wondered. She was thirty-five now; the years were slipping by, and happiness felt out of reach. She stared out the window at the passing cars, thinking about how a woman's "prime" doesn't last forever. She knew she wasn't the same person she used to be. Little wrinkles were forming around her eyes, and her waistline wasn't as slim as it once was. Sarah had never been thin, but with her petite height, she had settled into a soft, curvy figure.
Maybe she should finally listen to her friend Megan and try her luck on a dating app. They lived in a small town of barely eighty thousand people. Once you filtered out the seniors, the kids, and the women, there wasn't much left. Subtract the married men, the alcoholics, and the deadbeats, and the options were honestly depressing. But online, there was the whole country. Maybe her soulmate was thousands of miles away, and a dating site was the only way they'd ever cross paths.
Deciding not to overthink it, Sarah fired up her laptop.
Registration was easy. She picked her most flattering photo, and just like that, she was live. The messages started pouring in immediately, as if everyone had been sitting around just waiting for her profile to appear.
But as she read through them, her heart sank. Creeps, weirdos, and a never-ending flood of "hookup" offers filled her inbox. Sarah fired off a couple of angry replies, shut the laptop in a huff, and went to bed.
***
The next day at the salon, Sarah told Megan that her advice was useless and that those sites were nothing but a dumpster fire.
"Just give it a few days," Megan said as she styled a client's hair. "The trash will clear out, and maybe someone decent will message you."
"I don't know, Meg. I'm not sure I buy into all this," Sarah sighed.
That evening, Sarah reluctantly opened her profile again. There were a few more low-effort messages, but one finally caught her eye.
The photo showed a handsome guy. Sarah clicked on his profile. Jason, thirty years old. He was younger, sure, but five years wasn't a huge gap. She started scanning her memory for friends or relatives where the wife was older than the husband. She thought of two couples who were doing just fine. People make it work, she thought. It's no big deal.
He had written: "Hi there. I saw your profile and noticed we're looking for the same thing. I've been alone for a long time, searching for someone to start a family with. It seems like everyone just wants something casual these days, but I want the real deal—once and for all. When I saw your photo, I knew I wanted to get to know you. You're very beautiful, and I'd love to talk more. I'll be anxious until I hear back from you. Hope to talk soon."
Maybe this is it, Sarah thought. Heartened, she began typing a reply.
And so, the correspondence began. Jason explained that he was working a long-term contract at a remote construction site in Alaska and wouldn't be able to meet in person for three months until his shift ended. He told her he couldn't wait to finally hold her.
Sarah was on cloud lines. She lived for his calls and texts, moving through her days with a newfound glow. Every night before bed, she re-read his messages and drifted off to sleep with a smile.
***
A month passed, and then suddenly, the messages stopped. No calls, no texts. Sarah tried calling him, but his phone was off. She messaged him on the app; she could see the messages were "read," but there was no reply.
Sarah panicked. How could he just vanish after they had built so many hopes and made so many plans? They had talked about their future years down the line. There was no reason for him to ruin everything—he had even told her that his crew was all men, even the cook, so it wasn't like there were other women around. She was lost in a sea of confusion.
Five days later, a message finally popped up on her phone.
"Sarah, my love. I didn't want to write to you again, but I couldn't help it because I love you. I've dreamed of you every night. I can't be without you or our talks. Just hearing your voice is everything to me. But after you read this, you have to decide whether to forgive me or not. I lied to you. I'm not in Alaska. I'm in prison. I still have three years left on my sentence, and I didn't want to ruin your life by making you wait. Please forgive me for the lies and the broken dreams. Why would you want a convict? Even if I am only here because a 'friend' set me up. I love you. Goodbye."
Sarah read the message and sobbed. Her heart ached with pity and love. She didn't want to live without him, and three years didn't seem so long—she had already been alone for three. She could do three more if it meant having him at the end of it.
She wrote back immediately, promising to wait and swearing she would never leave him. She nearly went crazy waiting for his next call.
***
The communication resumed. It turned out Jason was in a correctional facility in a neighboring county. They could have short supervised visits, and he asked if she could possibly bring a few essentials that are hard to come by on the inside.
A month later, on the scheduled day, Sarah hurried to the bus station with heavy bags for their first "date." She had spent almost her entire paycheck on things Jason needed, but she didn't regret it for a second.
The visit went well. Jason spoke to her tenderly, telling her she was even more beautiful in person and that it pained him that he couldn't hold her or touch her.
Sarah returned home late that night, glowing from the meeting but aching from the goodbye.
The following day, Jason proposed. He pointed out that with three years left, being married would grant them "extended" private visits, and it would help his case for parole. Without a second thought, Sarah agreed. She wanted to be close to him, too, and they already had their life planned out—why wait? Six months later, after jumping through all the legal hoops, Sarah and Jason were married at the facility.
It had the trappings of a real wedding—the white dress, the cake—but instead of champagne, there was soda, and instead of friends and family, there were corrections officers.
***
After two and a half years of bus trips and visits, Jason was granted parole.
Sarah sat in a taxi, her eyes glued to the prison gates. Any moment now, Jason would appear. she would run to him, they would embrace, and they would never have to let go again.
Finally, the gates opened and Jason walked out. Sarah bolted from the car and threw her arms around his neck. He hugged her back, but it felt... cold. A chill went through her, a sense of hurt, but she brushed it off as nerves and exhaustion on his part.
They went back to Sarah's place, where she had everything ready. The table was set; she just had to heat up the main course. Sarah had spent two days preparing, buying the best groceries and looking up gourmet recipes. She wanted to spoil him after years of cafeteria food.
They sat down to eat, but Jason was quiet, nothing like the passionate, cheerful man she knew from their visits. He was silent, and no matter how hard she tried to start a conversation, he wouldn't engage. When she asked what was wrong, he just brushed her off with a "Nothing, I'm fine."
The buzzer rang. A teenage boy was at the door asking for Jason. Sarah opened it, and the boy handed Jason a cheap, basic prepaid phone before quickly running off.
The evening passed in near silence, and the night didn't live up to Sarah's romantic expectations. Jason seemed distracted. His phone rang periodically, and he would go into the other room to talk.
Another day passed. Jason asked Sarah to buy him some clothes, promising he'd pay her back as soon as he got his first paycheck. Sarah bought him a tracksuit, sneakers, and several shirts, since he had arrived with nothing but an outdated outfit. She even gave him her spare smartphone; she couldn't have him walking around with that "brick" the kid had brought him.
The next morning, Sarah had to go to work. Her heart felt heavy, but no one could cover her shift at the salon, so she had no choice.
When she returned, the apartment was empty. Jason was gone, and so were his new clothes. Sarah checked the small decorative box where she kept her emergency cash. Exactly five hundred dollars was missing. On the kitchen table sat a note.
"Sarah, I'm grateful for everything and I'll never forget you. Forgive me, but everyone has to survive how they can. I took some money, just what I need to get started. I'll pay it back. I have a different life, and I can't be the man you want me to be. You need a family; I need my freedom. Thanks again for everything. Goodbye."
Sarah sank to the floor and cried. She didn't even know what she was crying for anymore—for the man who had used her so skillfully, for the love she thought she had, or for the three years she spent waiting for a dream that was never meant to come true.
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