Grandma Wendy’s Stories

After everything fell apart in 2018, my sister booked me a cruise—one that would sail from Barcelona, around the Mediterranean, across the Atlantic, through the Caribbean, and back to America. A long journey… for a broken heart.

I was supposed to go alone, but my sister didn’t think I should. She feared, honestly, that I might not come back. I was that distraught. She said, “Wendy, I just got off a cruise from New Zealand and Australia… but I’ll go with you. You’re not doing this alone.”

That’s the kind of sister she is. My anchor in the storm.

I brought with me a stack of letters—pleas from the man I once loved, now in prison, begging me to stay. For a week, we sailed while my sister refused to read a single letter. Instead, she gave me one directive:

“Go to the top deck. Find a quiet spot. Leave the letters behind. And don’t come down until you’ve made a decision—stay or go. No turning back.”

So I did. I sat under the sky, crying, praying, asking God for clarity.

And I heard the answer in my heart:

“It’s okay to let go. It’s okay to choose freedom. It’s okay to walk away.”

So I did.

I met my sister at a restaurant on the ship, and right there, I took off my wedding ring. “I’m done,” I told her. “I’m getting a divorce.”

She looked at me and smiled.

“The covenant is broken. You’re already free.”

She said we needed to celebrate. When the ship reached Barcelona, we would go to the martini bar and toast my freedom—with chocolate martinis. I’d never had one in my life. She promised I’d love it.

As soon as the bar opened, we rushed there—but the place was packed. I spotted one open seat next to a man and a woman, so I asked if it was free.

The man looked up and said, “Yeah, my friend left. But good luck getting service—he’s over at the other end trying, and no one’s coming over here.”

I smiled. “That’s okay. I’ll wait.”

Right then—like fate—the bartender came straight to me.

I ordered four chocolate martinis (two for me, two for my sister—hey, the bar was crowded!). The man next to me laughed like I was an undercover party animal. His accent was lovely—Australian—and he introduced me to his wife. We started talking. Joking. Laughing.

He looked me over and said, “You’re American, aren’t you? Are you married?”

I shook my head. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

He glanced at my hand. “Well, no ring. So I’ll assume you’re not.”

Then he leaned in with a mischievous smile and said,

“See that guy over there—the one you took the seat from? His name’s Tony. Tony Goodhue. He’s from New Zealand.”

I squinted. “New Zealand? Isn’t that where people eat each other?”

I was totally joking… but that line? That ridiculous, awkward, perfect line?

It would be the beginning of something that would change my life forever.