The letter arrived addressed to me on Thursday afternoon, tucked inside an elaborate gold envelope, my name written in swirling, impeccable handwriting. I held it briefly, turned it over in my hands, and decided it had to be junk mail. Another of those flashy solicitations, the sort that attempted to lure you in with a show of elegance. I cast it onto a growing pile of letters and advertisements on the counter without a second thought.

They sat, a neglected jumble, for the next few days. It wasn’t until Saturday, as I sipped my freshly brewed coffee, that they vied for my attention. The luxury of a weekend morning unfolded before me and I could no longer ignore them. Resigned, I picked up the stack, sorting the mundane bills and catalogs. That same golden envelope caught my eye again. Curiosity piqued; I broke the wax seal and pulled out the letter inside. It was an invitation, printed on heavy cream-colored paper.

Ha! Must be one of those timeshares where you have to sit for hours listening to a salesperson drone on about how this will be the ultimate vacation for the rest of your life.

My eyes widened as I read further. Addressed to me, it was a request to attend an exclusive seminar on a private island with all expenses covered by the hosts. What was the catch? It seemed almost too good to be true, and I shifted in my seat, teetering between excitement and skepticism. The card contained all the details, and in a chic script, it instructed me to a phone number if I had questions.

What the hell, I mused. I rolled it between my fingers. A swirl of curiosity and doubt churned inside me. I punched in the number on my cellphone, waited for the usual automated message to thank me for my interest or press one for more options. I nearly dropped my coffee cup when a real, live person picked up the line instead.

“Hello, Melody. Thank you for reaching out to us. My name is Samantha. What questions do you have for me?” The voice was direct, as if it expected my call.

“Samantha?” I fumbled for words. “How did you know my name?” My mind raced through possibilities. Was my cellphone being tracked?

“You have a gold card in your hand, right?”

“Yes, but…” The skepticism was evident in my tone.

“A select group received them; your numbers on the list I have here.” Her voice was smooth, as if she anticipated my suspicions.

“Okay. Now that’s weird.” I was reeling. “Have we met before?” It felt as if I had wandered into a novel—with a strange plot twist, just for me.

“Not yet, but if you accept the invitation, you will.” She laughed, a quick, confident burst that only deepened the mystery. “Trust me. It’s likely you’re puzzled, but I’m here to help guide you in the right direction. Ask me anything.”

I stood in the kitchen, the invite in one hand, the phone in the other, trying to process this bizarre turn of events. A million questions tumbled over each other in my mind, each tangled with doubt. Who was behind this? How much did I want to risk for an adventure that might only exist in enticing brochures? A part of me held back despite my gnawing curiosity. I hesitated, my finger hovering over the screen, tempted to end this conversation and block the number before I got swept up in something I would later regret.

“You want to hang up on me, don’t you? That’s people’s first reaction. I’m being sincere when I tell you, following that instinct is not in your best interest. I mean that this is an opportunity of a lifetime, and it would be a shame for you to miss out on it because you have trust issues,” Samantha said.

“Trust issues? More like sanity issues.” I chuckled, trying to mask my disbelief. “Lady, you better start talking or I swear I’ll hang up.” I was ready to cut the line on this entire charade.

“You finished a course for teaching Pilates and yoga, didn’t you?” Samantha’s certainty annoyed me. What the hell? How did she know that?

I paused, the words sticking in my throat. The information wasn’t as private as I’d wanted, but it wasn’t something I’d plastered on a billboard. Those familiar with me understood my intentions.

Fresh out of a messy break-up with my cheating fiancé, I carried more baggage than I ever imagined. I needed an anchor to latch onto. A fact everyone knew about. The life overhaul, a radical turning of the page, had been the only thing that kept me sane. The alternative course in my career path, this retreat into my personal salvation, had been a refreshing, eye-opening inner journey. I was excited to share it with other women going through similar self-discovery options. No one, including a stranger on the phone, should link my new occupational goals to a distant seminar on a private island.

Was this some kind of joke? I felt ambivalent about the intense scrutiny of my life.

“You’re silent. Did I lose you?” Samantha taunted.

“No,” I said, squeezing my cellphone tighter. “I’m here.” I figured I might as well call her bluff. What did I stand to lose? “So, what? What about my training?” I asked, trying to sound unfazed.

“Our company goes beyond those teachings,” she explained, her voice quick and enthusiastic. “The experience begins with you flying into Bora Bora and being met at the airport. From there, we charter a private yacht and sail you across the spectacular cerulean waters to the secluded and captivating Motu Mahana, in the Society Islands.” Samantha continued before I could respond, bubbling with details. “There are no airports, roads, or traffic—only unbridled nature and tranquility. You’ll find yourself welcomed by the shores of white sand, free of crowds and noise.”

“Your group, comprised of carefully selected and like-minded people, will be greeted by our friendly staff.” Her descriptions were endless, almost too much to absorb. “A luxurious yurt right on the beach for your sleeping accommodations. Get ready for a personal chef preparing gourmet meals, a comforting masseuse, a meditation instructor to lead your practice, and a snorkeling guide for your off-hour explorations.”

She didn’t pause for a breath. “We will also have yoga and Pilates instructors, all versed in advanced techniques. You’ll discover improved strategies maximizing your teaching effectiveness.”

“It’s a unique chance to expand your expertise and skill set. And remember, this is all expenses paid. How does that sound to you?”

“Too good to be true,” I retorted, not believing my ears. “What’s in it for you?”

“That’s what everyone says,” she laughed, her voice dripping with sweetness. “If you decide to take us up on our generous offer, I’ll arrange for a ride to pick you up first thing Monday morning.”

“You don’t waste any time, do you?” I said, wondering if I had willingly stepped into a scam.

Before my sensible self could talk me out of it, I blurted out, “Sure, book me.”

“Wonderful! I’m thrilled you’re on board. I look forward to meeting you. Expect the car for you at seven sharp on Monday morning. Pack light: a bathing suit and yoga pants. Oh, and don’t forget your passport. The weather there is perfect. Tootles.” Samantha hung up, leaving me holding the phone and a strange, restless excitement in the pit of my stomach. “Wait!” I shouted, “What’s the…catch?” But the line was dead. I shrugged.  Surely she would have told me if it was something major?

Why had I agreed to this outlandish plan? It was out of character for me. I’m the type to research the hell out of any proposition before making a commitment. Michael would be shocked, but who cares what he thinks anymore? The thought of him and that woman darted across my mind, similar to an annoying housefly in the summer, but I swatted it away. This was part of the new me. Adventurous and carefree, just like the little twenty-something he was fucking now.

A sudden rush of enthusiasm took hold, and I planned my next two days in a flurry. I spent the rest of Saturday in a semi-daze, a blur of exhilaration mixed with disbelief. Am I doing this? Every so often, I came close to talking myself out of it, but an inner drive kept propelling me forward. This was the opportunity of a lifetime, or so they said, just what I needed to shake things up.

I gathered my belongings on Sunday afternoon and packed, almost in a trance. My suitcase held more than enough for the week. I folded an extra swimsuit and several yoga pants and slipped my passport into my fanny pack. Sunglasses and a wide-brim hat completed my hasty preparations.

From my window, I watched the busy New York streets below, cabs and delivery trucks at a standstill as pedestrians scurried in between them. The sounds of the city were all around me: honking, the shouting, the constant pulse of activity. It was a far cry from the peaceful paradise I hoped to find waiting for me. Right after daybreak, as I stood on the curb with the gold envelope tucked under my arm, my thoughts spun with anticipation and doubt.

When the black limo pulled up outside my brownstone, I took a deep breath.

I was ready.

Editors: Michelle Naragon & Lisa Mildon