The last message I got from Bethany came 2 days before our flight. Just a fire emoji. No words, no context, like she was trying to send some vague warning or maybe just remind me she was still watching. I showed Emily while we were picking up luggage tags. She didn’t even react, just scanned her boarding pass and said, “Perfect. Let it burn.” I blocked the number.
That was the last loose thread leading up to the trip. There was silence from everyone else, too. My dad didn’t call. My mom sent one generic “Hope you’re well” text that I ignored. There were no more lectures, no more guilt trips. I think they finally realized I wasn’t going to be the one to fix what they broke. Not this time.
We left for the Maldives on a Thursday morning. No layovers, no rush. I watched Emily sleep against the window as we crossed over miles of open water. And for the first time in years, my brain didn’t feel like it was on fire. No calculations, no financial plans, no rescue missions, just quiet.
Our bungalow was over the water, literally. You could hear the ocean underneath the floorboards. They had a sign posted inside: “No clocks. Let time be yours again.” That hit harder than it should have.