I had never been on a plane before, and the prospect of winning any competition had never even entered my mind, for I never took part in any.

So, when the letter arrived through my door, you can believe I was somewhat perplexed.

It could be an advertisement; I told myself after I first read the letter.

It could be a scam, I told myself, after reading it twice.

But on the third read, I looked to the mantlepiece, to his photo frame and his photograph within—my beloved Sebastian, at my joyous Bash.

“Was this you?” I said out loud and huffed a laugh. “Is this your way of telling me I need to get out more?”

I glanced back at the letter and sighed, my eyes scanning over the list of available facilities that the park offered: a theme park, a private beach, skydiving, an all-day buffet. “You did always bring the fun. But, I don’t think—”

A gift card slipped from the envelope, gliding to the carpet. “Woah. £50 to spend on doughnuts?” I smiled at Sebastian again. “Oh, my love. You did always know the way to my heart. Should I do it then? Should I go? Oh, could you not give me that look? I’m great at making decisions, and,” I pondered, “I do have a week left of holiday to take.”

With one last read of the letter, I slapped my hands on my legs. “I’m going to do it. For you, Bash. For me.”

My stomach flipped as I zipped up my suitcase—the day had arrived.

I placed a red rose next to him on the mantlepiece—next to his urn—and ran my thumb over the cold glass of the picture frame—over his cheek. “I’m I being stupid, Bash? Should I just stay here?”

Thunder rumbled, and rain hammered against the windows—the grey, early morning light stark in contrast to the dark blue of my living room walls.

I tightened my grip on my suitcase. “A bit of sun would be nice. I will take loads of pictures. Would you like to see them once I get back?”

Another rumble of thunder echoed outside.

“Okay,” I breathed in deep. “I will be back soon, my love. Wish me luck.”

Stepping into the hallway, I removed my car keys from their hook; I took one last looked at my tiny house before closing the door behind me.

The rain followed me to the airport, my shoes squelching as I left my car and squeaking as I entered the terminal.

“Good morning, welcome to Wright Airport,” A woman sat behind the desk, her smile as wide as her face.

“Hi, um, Alice Jackson,” I said, “for...for the flight to Errat Parks.” I handed over my passport and boarding pass, along with the letter.

The woman inclined her head politely, reading over the slips of paper. She typed something onto her computer, then returned her gaze to mine; the corner of her lips turned into a pained smile.

A bead of sweat dripped down my back—something was wrong, why did something have to go wrong?

Nothing would have gone had Sebastian been here.

He would have flashed the woman a wicked grin or told an embarrassing joke which would have nonetheless made the woman and me laugh.

I dug my nails into my palms. Why wasn't my Sebastian here?

“I’m sorry, Ms Jackson.” The woman said softly. “This ticket is listed out to a Mr A Jackson.” She clicked a few keys on her keyboard. “The Errat company must have sent it to the wrong address.”

No, no, no! This doesn't seem right, this—

I swallowed. “So...” My voice cracked. “So I haven't won a holiday?”

“No. I’m sorry—”

A high pitch rang in my ears, blurring out every noise, tuning out every voice.

I turned from the desk, from the woman and her pitying eyes, from the other passengers and their smug smirks.

Heat smothered my face, stealing my breath, as I hurried from the terminal out into the cool air.

My suitcase wheel caught on the uneven pavement, and it twisted in my hand, the soft side of the fabric grating along the floor.

I ignored it, simply pulling it harder towards the car park.

I slammed the car door shut behind me, my back moulding into the seat.

My throat burned, and tears threatened to explode from my eyes—I am never leaving the house again.

My phone slipped from my knee, plummeting to the floor. The screen flashed on, and my Bash’s face stared back, his cheeks a rose’s flush, his smile a beautiful curve of bliss. The picture was my favourite, taken on a trip to Cornwall on our first anniversary.

My breath hitched, and I whispered, “I knew it seemed too good to be true.”