“Yeah,” I said. “I’m ready.”
I really was.
Which was why what he said next hurt so badly.
The baggage carousel started moving, and I reached for one of our suitcases while mentally reviewing directions to the rental car.
Mark stood beside me texting.
“Oh, by the way,” he said casually, “the guys are staying about an hour from here.”
I stopped.
“What guys?”
“Jason and some friends from college. I’m going over tomorrow. Probably three days. Golf, fishing, hanging out.”
I stared at him.
“You already planned this?”
He finally looked up and gave me the shrug I knew so well.
“Come on, Sarah. It’s only three days out of seven. You’ve got the resort. The kids have the pool. You’ll be fine.”
You’ll be fine.
Those three words landed differently this time.
I had spent eight months making sure everyone would be fine.
I had booked flights.
Packed snacks.
Organized luggage.
Researched activities.
Remembered his golf clubs.
No one had once asked what I wanted.
Max pulled at my arm.
“Mommy, I think that green suitcase is ours.”
“Yeah, baby. It is.”
I lifted it myself.
Mark was already looking at his phone again.
For once, I didn’t argue.
Not there.
Not with our three children standing nearby.
I simply smiled.
“Have fun.”
Mark blinked.
“Really?”
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