Chapter 3: What David Already Knew
I stood in the corridor for a moment after Beatrice walked away.
The carpet was thick and quiet under my feet.
The hallway smelled of coconut and cleaning spray.
Somewhere above me, in the ocean-view suite that had my name on the reservation, my husband was either already there or on his way up.
I went back inside.
My eldest, Maya, was sitting on the edge of the bed watching me.
"Is Grandma angry?" she asked.
"Grandma is fine," I said.
"Who wants to go find the pool?"
That bought me forty minutes.
While the kids splashed in the shallow end, I sat on a sun lounger with my phone and pulled up the original booking confirmation.
David's name was in the sender field.
Mine was in the guest details.
Ocean Terrace Suite.
Two adults.
Anniversary package.
Champagne on arrival.
I read it twice.
Then I forwarded it to my own email and took a screenshot.
Then David appeared at the pool gate.
He had changed into a resort shirt, linen, pale blue.
He looked relaxed in a way that made something tighten in my chest.
"Hey," he said, pulling a lounger next to mine.
"Mom told me what happened."
"I'm sure she did."
"You called the front desk and had her moved."
"I called the front desk," I said, "and corrected a mistake.
The suite was booked in my name.
For our anniversary."
He was quiet for a moment.
"She's upset."
"David." I turned to look at him directly.
"Did you tell her she could have the suite before we left home?"
He didn't answer immediately.
That was the answer.
"I just thought—" he started.
"Did you tell her yes or no?"
"I told her we'd figure it out when we got there."
"And she took that as yes."
"She's been having back problems—"
"So have I," I said.
"Twelve years of carrying this family has done a number on my back too.
But that's not the point."
He looked at the pool.
Maya was teaching her younger brother to float.
"I didn't think it would be a big deal," he said.
"You booked that suite for me.
You told me it was for us.
You let me get on a plane excited about our anniversary and you never once mentioned that you'd already half-promised it to your mother."
"I didn't promise—"
"You didn't correct her either." I kept my voice low and even.
"That's the same thing."
He rubbed the back of his neck.
"I'll talk to her."
"She's already in a different room.
The suite is ours.
That part is handled."
He looked at me then, something flickering across his face.
Not quite guilt.
Not quite relief.
Something in between that I couldn't fully name.
"You're not going to let this go, are you," he said.
It wasn't a question.
"I'm going to enjoy our anniversary," I said.
"That's what I came here to do."
I picked up my sunscreen and turned back toward the pool.
Behind me, I heard him exhale slowly.
That evening, I was putting the kids to bed when my phone lit up with a message from a number I didn't recognize.
May you like
*You should ask your husband why his mother really came on this trip.
It wasn't for the kids.*
