Part 2 — “It’s Only Three Days”
The baggage carousel started moving.
The kids leaned forward excitedly, pointing at every suitcase as though spotting luggage were part of the vacation entertainment.
I saw one of ours and reached for it.
Beside me, Mark was texting someone.
Then, as casually as if he were mentioning the weather, he said, “Oh, by the way, the guys are staying about an hour from here.”
My hand froze on the suitcase handle.
“What guys?”
“Jason and some of the college crew.”
He didn’t even look concerned.
“I’m heading over tomorrow. Probably staying three days. Golf, fishing, hanging out. You know.”
For a moment, I thought I had misunderstood him.
“You’re staying with them?”
“Yeah.”
“For three days?”
“Sarah.”
He finally looked at me.
“It’s three days out of seven.”
I stared at him.
He continued, “You’ll be at the resort. The kids have the pool. Everything’s already paid for. You’ll be fine.”
You’ll be fine.
Those three words landed harder than anything else he could have said.
Because of course I would be fine.
I was always fine.
I had planned the flights.
Packed the bags.
Remembered everyone’s medication.
Printed directions twice.
Organized snacks into separate bags so the children wouldn’t argue.
Packed his golf clubs.
Spent eight months arranging a vacation for our family.
And now, after arriving, he had casually informed me that he had already made separate plans for nearly half of it.
Plans he had never mentioned.
Plans that left me alone with three young children.
Again.
Cynthia pulled on my shorts.
“Mommy, is that green suitcase ours?”
I looked down.
“Yes, sweetheart.”
I grabbed it myself.
Mark was already texting again.
Probably telling his friends he’d landed.
I could have argued.
Part of me wanted to.
But my children were standing beside me, and a family a few feet away was pretending very hard not to listen.
So instead, I smiled.
“Have fun.”
Mark’s head snapped up.
“What?”
“Go. Have fun.”
His eyebrows rose.
“Really?”
“Really.”
He smiled, clearly relieved, and squeezed my shoulder affectionately.
I felt almost nothing.
During the drive to the resort, I watched palm trees blur past the window and the ocean appear between buildings.
And somewhere inside me, something changed.
Quietly.
Not dramatically.
There was no screaming.
No sudden confrontation.
It was more like a door closing softly in another room.
The resort was gorgeous.
Palm trees surrounded the entrance. The lobby smelled faintly of coconut. The children received welcome drinks served in plastic pineapple cups.
Max raced toward the windows.
Darlene immediately asked for the Wi-Fi password.
Cynthia wanted to know where she would sleep.
When we reached our room, Mark dropped onto the king-sized bed without even taking off his shoes.
He released a long sigh.
“God, I needed this.”
I stood beside three open suitcases.
Of course he did.
I unpacked while he rested.
That night, after the children were asleep on the pull-out beds, I opened the vacation binder I had created.
Day two: dolphin excursion.
Day four: family dinner at the little seafood restaurant.
Day six: sunset boat ride.
All five of us.
I stared at those words for a long time.
Then I looked at Mark.
He was already asleep.
One arm covered his eyes.
His mouth was slightly open.
I quietly closed the binder.
The next morning, he dressed before sunrise.
He kissed each child on the forehead without waking them, grabbed his duffel bag, then picked up the rental car keys.
“I’ll be back Thursday.”
I nodded.
“Have fun, babe,” he said.
“You too.”
For a second, he hesitated at the door.
Maybe some small part of him expected me to stop him.
Maybe he hoped I would say, “Don’t go.”
I didn’t.
The door clicked shut behind him.
I walked onto the balcony.
Below me, the pool shimmered in the early sunlight.
Palm leaves moved gently in the humid breeze.
I watched Mark’s rental car back out of its parking space and disappear down the driveway.
Then I pulled out my phone.
My sister Linda’s name appeared near the top of my contacts.
Linda was the person I called whenever life became too heavy.
My thumb hovered over her name.
But I didn’t call.
For once, I didn’t want someone to rescue me.
I wanted to make a decision.
And suddenly, I knew exactly what I was going to do.
