Chapter 5 - The Drop-OffI ran barefoot down my front steps.
“Mom!”
Her minivan was already pulling away.
Lily stood beside the curb clutching a purple backpack.
Charlotte held her stuffed giraffe beneath one arm and looked half asleep.
“Aunt Emma?”
I stopped myself from screaming.
Whatever war existed between the adults, these two little girls were not going to become casualties.
I crouched.
“Hey, bugs.”
Charlotte immediately hugged me.
“Grandma said we’re having a sleepover.”
My throat tightened.
“Did she?”
Lily looked uncertain.
“Mom said you might be mad.”
I forced a smile.
“I am never mad at you.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
I got them inside.
Locked the door.
Made hot chocolate.
Put Charlotte in my bed with cartoons while Lily helped me unfold the guest-room blankets.
Only when they were settled did I call Megan.
She answered immediately.
“Emma—”
“Where are you?”
“At home.”
“Come get your daughters.”
“Mom said—”
“I don’t care what Mom said.”
“Please.”
“No.”
“Our car leaves at five.”
“My car leaves for the airport at six.”
“You can miss your flight.”
“No.”
Silence.
Then Ryan’s voice appeared faintly behind her.
“Just tell her we’ll pay the change fee.”
I almost laughed.
“Megan, listen carefully. You have thirty minutes to pick up Lily and Charlotte.”
“Emma, don’t scare me.”
“You should be scared. Your children were dropped at my house without my consent the night before an international flight.”
“Mom thought once you saw them—”
“That I would be emotionally blackmailed into surrendering?”
“Don’t say it like that.”
“How else should I say it?”
She began crying.
Again.
But this time something had shifted.
Maybe it was seeing Lily’s little shoes by my front door.
Maybe it was knowing Charlotte believed this was an ordinary sleepover.
Maybe it was the sheer recklessness of the adults who claimed I was irresponsible.
“You are their mother,” I said quietly.
“You don’t get to disappear because childcare is inconvenient.”
“I’m not disappearing.”
“Then come get them.”
“What if I don’t?”
I closed my eyes.
“I will not threaten you, Megan. But I cannot take them to Costa Rica, and I will not miss my flight.”
“You’d really call someone?”
She didn’t say police.
She didn’t have to.
“I want their mother to pick them up.”
A long silence followed.
Then Ryan took the phone.
“Emma.”
“Ryan.”
“Everybody needs to calm down.”
“I’m calm.”
“Clearly not.”
“Your children are in my house.”
“We trust you.”
“That does not equal consent.”
He exhaled.
“We’ve already paid for everything.”
“So have I.”
“This retreat is important.”
“So is Costa Rica.”
“For God’s sake, it’s a resort.”
“And Cedar Lake is cabins.”
He paused.
“You’ve always been good with the girls.”
“I’m still good with them. You’re being terrible with me.”
“I think you’re overreacting.”
“Come get your daughters.”
I disconnected.
Twenty-seven minutes later, headlights swept across my driveway.
Megan stormed toward my porch.
Ryan followed.
She didn’t knock.
I had left the door unlocked because the girls were watching a movie.
Megan entered like a hurricane.
“Where are they?”
“Guest room.”
“You happy?”
“No.”
“You ruined this whole trip.”
“I didn’t create your children.”
Her face twisted.
“That is such a disgusting thing to say.”
“No. The disgusting thing was dropping them here against my will.”
“Mom did that.”
“With your permission.”
She didn’t deny it.
Ryan collected the overnight bags.
Lily appeared in the hallway.
“Are we leaving?”
Megan instantly changed her expression.
“Yes, honey.”
“Why?”
“Plans changed.”
Lily looked at me.
“Did Aunt Emma not want us?”
My heart broke.
I knelt in front of her.
“Come here.”
She stepped closer.
I held both her hands.
“I always want you in my life. I love you more than all the ice cream in Ohio.”
She smiled faintly.
“That’s a lot.”
“A ridiculous amount.”
“Then why can’t we stay?”
“Because I have to leave early tomorrow.”
“For Costa Rica?”
“Yes.”
Her eyes brightened.
“The sloths?”
I had shown her photos.
“The sloths.”
She hugged me.
“Bring me a picture.”
“I will.”
Charlotte came wandering out.
Within ten minutes, they were gone.
Megan never said goodbye.
I slept three hours.
At dawn, Tasha drove me to the airport.
As we pulled away from my house, she asked, “Any regrets?”
I looked back once.
“No.”
And surprisingly, I meant it.
By 11:30 a.m., I was above the Gulf of Mexico.
My phone was on airplane mode.
For the first time since childhood, there was literally no way my family could reach me.
I ordered tomato juice.
Opened a novel.
Watched clouds slide below the wing.
And cried.
Not dramatically.
Not loudly.
Just silent tears I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.
The sadness wasn’t because I had chosen Costa Rica.
It was because it had taken Costa Rica for me to understand how little permission I had given myself to choose anything.
When we landed, tropical heat wrapped around me the second the airport doors opened.
My driver, Mateo, held a sign with my name.
“You are here alone?” he asked as he loaded my suitcase.
“Yes.”
“First time?”
“In Costa Rica?”
He nodded.
“Yes.”
He grinned.
“Then you are going to have a very good week.”
He was right.
The first morning, I woke before sunrise and walked barefoot onto the beach.
The Pacific was silver-blue.
Howler monkeys called from somewhere in the trees.
Nobody needed cereal.
Nobody needed rides.
Nobody wanted me to compromise.
I drank coffee while the sun rose.
Later, I went zip-lining through the forest with six strangers.
One was a forty-year-old divorced teacher from Denver named Rachel.
Afterward, we ate lunch together.
“So what brought you here?” she asked.
I laughed.
“You wouldn’t believe me.”
“Try me.”
I told her the short version.
By the time I finished, she was staring.
“They dropped the children at your house?”
“At eleven at night.”
“And you still got on the plane?”
“Yes.”
She lifted her beer.
“To Emma.”
“What are we celebrating?”
“The first day of the rest of your life.”
Corny.
Absolutely.
But I clinked my bottle against hers anyway.
Back in Ohio, meanwhile, Cedar Lake was imploding.
I didn’t know that yet.
My family had eventually taken all four children with them after deciding the sitter was too expensive.
The couples’ winery tour was canceled.
Caleb’s golf reservation was abandoned halfway through because his youngest developed a fever.
Sophie and Megan fought over supervision.
Dad complained that nobody appreciated how much the retreat cost.
Mom cried.
And according to a series of messages I wouldn’t see until later, by day three, they had found someone to blame.
Me.
On my fourth evening, I turned my phone back on after snorkeling.
Ninety-three notifications appeared.
I ignored most.
Then I saw one from Mom:
CALL ME. FAMILY EMERGENCY.
My stomach dropped.
I called immediately.
She answered crying.
“Emma?”
“What happened? Are the girls okay?”
“The children are fine.”
I exhaled.
“Then what happened?”
“Your father left.”
“What?”
“He and Caleb had a fight.”
“About what?”
“You.”
I sat on the edge of my hotel bed.
“Why are they fighting about me?”
Mom took a shaky breath.
“Because your father finally admitted something.”
I waited.
“What?”
“He knew you were supposed to be excluded from the retreat months ago.”
“That isn’t news.”
“No.”
May you like
Mom’s next words changed the entire story.
“He was the one who suggested it.”
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