Darlene immediately looked worried.
“Mom, are we going home?”
I stopped folding clothes and looked at all three of them.
“No, sweetheart.”
I smiled.
“We’re finally going on vacation.”
By eleven, the old reservation was canceled.
By noon, the bags were packed.
Darlene stood beside me.
“Where are we really going?”
“Somewhere with bigger dolphins and shells that look like little pink fans.”
Her eyes widened.
“Does Daddy know?”
“Daddy is busy having his adventure with his friends. This is ours.”
That was enough for her.
Soon the kids were dragging their bags toward the hallway and asking whether the new place had kayaks.
During the ride, I almost called Linda again.
Then I put the phone away.
I didn’t need anyone’s permission.
The new resort was quieter and more beautiful than I remembered from the photos.
Darlene screamed with excitement when she saw the long wooden dock stretching over turquoise water.
“Mom! Look!”
“I see it, baby.”
That afternoon, I ate a grilled fish sandwich while the children chased hermit crabs nearby.
Nobody complained about the noise.
Nobody looked over my shoulder at the bill.
For once, I actually tasted my food.
Mark texted around four.
“How’s the pool? Send me a picture of the kids by the resort sign. The guys want to see.”
For six years, I would have automatically responded.
Instead, I typed:
“We’re good. Enjoy your trip.”
No picture.
No explanation.
That night, Max looked at me as I tucked him into bed.
“Mommy, are you sad?”
“No, honey. I think I’m the opposite.”
Darlene leaned over.
“What’s the opposite of sad?”
I thought for a moment.
“Happy, I guess. But right now I just feel… here.”
They didn’t understand.
But I did.
The next day, I rented paddleboards for Max and Darlene.
They fell into the water over and over, laughing so hard they could barely climb back on.
And I laughed too.
Not the polite laugh I used at dinner parties.
Not the tired laugh I gave Mark.
A real laugh.
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