After my miscarriage, my family convinced me to book a lavish vacation to cope. But at the resort, my room was canceled—using my account. They said my grief would “dampen the mood.” They didn’t expect my comeback.
Losing my baby crushed me. Then my husband, Dan, left, saying he needed time. I was alone, lost in pain.
Days felt empty. I drifted through our apartment, holding Dan’s old books, wondering if our life was a lie.
Grief was unpredictable—soft one moment, suffocating the next. I didn’t know how to heal.
Then my sister, Megan, called. “How are you?” she asked, her voice gentle, like when we were close.
“I’m getting by,” I said, cautious. “We’ve talked—me, Sarah, and Mom,” she said. “You need a trip.”
I was shocked. Megan always overshadowed me. Sarah stayed distant. Mom rarely cared about my feelings.
“That’s… unexpected,” I said. “We want to help, Jenny,” Megan said, sounding real.
Her care felt new. Maybe loss had united us. Maybe we could be a family again.
I agreed, needing hope. I booked it all—flights to Mexico, a grand three-bedroom suite, spa sessions, all prepaid.
It was costly, but I needed this escape. I thought it would bring us together. I was wrong.
Problems started early. “I’m not sharing with Sarah,” Megan said on a call. “She snores.”
“I don’t,” Sarah snapped. “You’re not easy either, Miss I-Need-No-Noise.” Mom sighed. “We’ll figure it out.”
I rubbed my head. “There are three rooms. I get one since I paid. You handle the rest.”
I wanted peace, not their fights. I was too tired for family drama.
The resort was beautiful—palm trees, turquoise water, a polished lobby. I felt a flicker of happiness.
That flicker died at check-in. “Name?” the clerk asked. I gave it, but she looked worried.
“Your room’s gone,” she said. My chest tightened. “I didn’t cancel it,” I said, confused.
I faced my family. They didn’t look surprised—they looked guilty. Megan avoided my gaze.
“What’s happening?” I asked, sharp. Megan sighed. “Your sadness would’ve ruined the trip.”
Her words cut deep. This was planned. Then I remembered Megan’s visit two days ago.
“Can I use your phone?” she’d asked. “Mine’s dead.” I handed it over. She typed, not called.
Later, I saw a bank code text. “Just ignore it,” she’d said. I trusted her, but I shouldn’t have.
It clicked. Megan used my phone to cancel my room, sneaking past my bank’s security.
“Where do I sleep?” I asked, voice steady but angry. “Try a guesthouse,” Mom said, casual.
“After I paid for this?” I asked. Sarah nodded. “A quiet spot’s better for you. We’ll enjoy the resort.”
They didn’t care about me. They wanted a free getaway, and I was a problem.
“Who changed it?” I asked the clerk. She paused. “I can’t—” I said, “I’m calling corporate.”
Megan laughed. “Don’t make a scene, Jenny.” I dialed anyway. A manager, Mark, confirmed the change.
“Your booking was switched to Megan, Sarah, and Patricia,” he said. “Your card was charged.”
I glared at them. “You used my phone. That’s fraud, Megan.” Mom said, “Don’t be silly.”
“You stole my room,” I said. Megan smirked. “We helped you. You need space.”
“Then why hide it?” I asked. She went silent. I told Mark, “Reinstate my booking. They pay their own way.”
“Done,” he said. I hung up, facing their shock. “You can’t!” Sarah yelled. “Do something, Megan!”
“You left me out,” I said. “Now you’re on your own.” The clerk asked for their card.
Mom’s card was declined. Megan’s too. “My account’s frozen,” Mom said. Megan muttered, “I’m maxed out.”
I sipped a free water, watching. “That’s rough,” I said. Mom glared. “Fix this, Jenny.”
“No,” I said. “You did this.” I took my key and left them scrambling in the lobby.
The penthouse was amazing. I sat on the balcony, sipping juice, the ocean shimmering.
My phone buzzed. Megan: “This is too expensive!” Mom: “You’re cruel.” Sarah: “You ruined us.”
I paused. Was I wrong? Then I recalled their lies, Megan’s smirk, Mom’s neglect, Sarah’s silence.
This wasn’t just a room. It was years of their selfishness. I was done.
I blocked them. This trip was my freedom—just without them. The sunset glowed orange.
Grief lingered, but I felt stronger. “To me,” I whispered, toasting the sea. It roared in reply.
