“This trip is ours. No talking about her. No trying to fix anything for her. You come as my husband—not her son.”
He nodded immediately.
“Deal.”
At the port in Miami, the ship towered above us, gleaming in the sun.
As we boarded, staff greeted me by name.
“Welcome aboard, Miss Whitmore.”
We stepped into the suite. The ocean stretched endlessly beyond the glass.
Ethan stood on the balcony.
“I get it now,” he said softly.
“It’s not bad,” I replied.
As the ship pulled away, my phone buzzed.
A message: “This isn’t over. —Margaret.”
I turned off the phone.
This wasn’t an ending.
Just a boundary.
I raised my glass toward Ethan.
“To going where you’re actually welcome.”
We clinked glasses as the shoreline faded behind us.
And for the first time… I felt completely at peace.
