The email said Congratulations! — she’d won a Caribbean cruise. Marie almost deleted it. Almost. But after a year of gray mornings and microwave dinners, the thought of blue water felt like oxygen.
She sent the deposit. Then the passport copy. Then, foolishly, her hopes.
When her daughter called it a scam, Marie laughed. “You’re too cynical.” She bought a swimsuit anyway, floral and bright, like something her younger self would’ve worn.
Departure day came and went. No ship. No captain. Just her reflection in the dark window, holding a packed suitcase and a printout of the itinerary.
A week later, a postcard arrived—no return address, just turquoise sea and white sand. On the back, in looping script: Sometimes, belief is its own vacation.
Marie smiled. Maybe it was a scam. Maybe it wasn’t. Either way, she felt lighter than she had in years.
Therapy Bits 
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