When Sam surprised me with a week-long hotel stay for me and the kids, I wanted to believe it was a sweet gesture. But something in my gut told me there was more to the story. He wasn’t usually the type to plan thoughtful getaways — in fact, he was more likely to forget our anniversary than arrange a surprise trip. Still, there he was, insisting I deserved a break. “Take Alison and Phillip, have some fun,” he said. When I asked if he’d join us, he claimed work deadlines had him tied up.
The kids were thrilled, but as I packed, a small knot formed in my stomach. The first few days at the hotel were filled with splashing in the pool and fast-food dinners, but each night, after the children fell asleep, the uneasy feeling returned.
By the fifth night, my curiosity got the better of me. I hired a babysitter, drove home, and braced myself for what I might find. The house was silent. No unexpected guests — except for Helen, my mother-in-law, sitting on my couch with shopping bags at her feet, sipping tea from my favorite mug.
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