I never thought that something like this could happen to me at the age of sixty-two.
That year, my life was quiet and monotonous. My husband had died long ago, my children had grown up, each with their own families and concerns. I lived alone in a small house outside the city. The days passed peacefully: after lunch I would sit by the window, listen to the birds, and watch the sun slowly set over the empty street. From the outside everything looked calm, but inside me a loneliness had long settled in, one I tried not to think about.
That day was my birthday. No one called, no one remembered. And then, suddenly, I decided to do something unusual, almost reckless. After lunch, I got on a bus and went into the city—just like that, without a plan.
I went into a small bar. There was warm yellow light and soft music. I sat down in a corner and ordered a glass of red wine.
I watched the people, and at some point I noticed a man who came up to my table. He was younger than me, just over thirty, well-groomed, confident, with an attentive look. He smiled and offered to order another glass for me.
We started talking so easily, as if we had known each other for many years. He said he worked as a photographer and had just returned from a trip. I talked about myself, about my life, about how I had postponed so many things and in the end never dared to do them. I don’t know if it was the wine or simply human warmth, but suddenly I felt alive.
That night, I went with him to a hotel. I was scared and at the same time calm. It had been a long time since I had felt another person next to me, their warmth, their presence. We hardly spoke, simply letting our emotions guide us.
I woke up alone. The room was quiet, the bed beside me empty. The man had disappeared without even saying goodbye. On the pillow lay an envelope. At first I thought it was a farewell note, but when I opened it, my blood ran cold.
Inside were photographs taken the night before and a short message. It said that if I didn’t want these pictures to end up on the internet and be seen by my children and relatives, I had to transfer money. Below was a card number.
At that moment, I realized I had become a victim of scammers. Everything had been planned in advance—the conversations, the attention, the night, the trust.
Now I’m telling this story to warn other women. Please think twice before trusting strangers, no matter how attentive and sincere they may seem. Sometimes the price of a minute of human warmth can be far too high.
