After losing my baby, my family urged me to book a fancy trip to recover. But at the resort, my room was canceled—using my account. Their reason? My pain would “spoil the mood.” They didn’t know I’d make them regret it.
My miscarriage shattered me. Then my husband, Tom, left, saying he couldn’t cope. I was alone, lost in sorrow.
Days dragged on. I wandered our apartment, holding Tom’s old jacket, questioning if our love meant anything.
Grief came in waves—quiet one moment, overwhelming the next. I didn’t know how to move forward.
Then my sister, Claire, called. “How are you?” she asked, her voice warm, like when we were young.
“I’m surviving,” I said, honest but guarded. “We’ve been talking—me, Amy, and Mom,” she said. “You need a getaway.”
I was surprised. Claire always tried to outshine me. Amy kept her distance. Mom rarely noticed my struggles.
“That’s… new,” I said. “We want to help, Laura,” Claire said, sounding sincere.
Her kindness felt real. Maybe loss had changed them. Maybe we could reconnect.
I said yes, craving hope. I booked it all—flights to Mexico, a luxe three-bedroom suite, spa treatments, all prepaid.
It cost a lot, but I needed this break. I thought it would help us all. I was mistaken.
Issues popped up fast. “I’m not rooming with Amy,” Claire said on a call. “She snores like crazy.”
“I don’t,” Amy shot back. “You’re not perfect either, Miss I-Need-Pitch-Black.”
“Stop it,” Mom sighed. “We’ll deal with it there.” I rubbed my eyes, tired already.
“There are three rooms,” I said. “I get one since I paid. You sort the rest.” I just wanted calm.
The resort was a dream—palm trees, endless ocean, a gleaming lobby. I felt a spark of joy.
That spark died at check-in. “Name?” the clerk asked. I gave it, but she frowned. “Your room’s gone.”
My stomach twisted. “That’s not right,” I said. “I didn’t cancel.” I looked at my family.
They weren’t shocked—they were uneasy. Claire looked away. “What’s going on?” I demanded.
Claire sighed. “We didn’t want your sadness ruining our trip.” Her words hit like a slap.
This was no accident. They’d betrayed me. Then I remembered Claire’s visit two days earlier.
“Can I borrow your phone?” she’d asked. “Mine’s off.” I gave it to her. She typed, not called.
Later, I saw a bank code text. “Just spam,” she’d said. I ignored it, trusting her.
Now it made sense. Claire used my phone to cancel my room, sneaking past my bank’s security.
“Where do I stay?” I asked, voice low. “There are guesthouses,” Mom said, like it was nothing.
“After I paid for this?” I asked. Amy nodded. “A quiet place is better for you. We’ll enjoy the resort.”
They didn’t care about my healing. They wanted a free vacation, and I was in the way.
“Who did this?” I asked the clerk. She hesitated. “I can’t—” I cut in. “I’m calling corporate.”
Claire scoffed. “You’re overreacting, Laura.” I ignored her and dialed. A manager, Alex, answered.
“Your booking was changed to Claire, Amy, and Patricia,” he said. “Your card was still charged.”
I glared at them. “You used my phone and code. That’s fraud, Claire.” Mom jumped in. “Don’t exaggerate.”
“You stole my room,” I said. Claire smirked. “We did you a favor. You need space.”
“Then why lie?” I asked. She froze. I told Alex, “Put my booking back. They pay for themselves.”
“Done,” he said. I hung up, facing their stunned faces. “You can’t!” Amy yelled. “Fix it, Claire!”
“You ditched me,” I said. “Now you’re on your own.” The clerk asked for their card.
Mom’s card failed. Claire’s too. “My account’s locked,” Mom said. Claire muttered, “I’m over my limit.”
I grabbed a free water, watching. “Tough spot,” I said. Mom glared. “Help us, Laura.”
“No,” I said. “You chose this.” I took my key and left them stranded in the lobby.
The penthouse was stunning. I sat on the balcony, sipping juice, the ocean glowing under the sun.
My phone lit up. Claire: “This costs a fortune!” Mom: “You’re heartless.” Amy: “You broke our family.”
I hesitated. Was I too harsh? Then I recalled their lies, Claire’s smugness, Mom’s neglect, Amy’s silence.
This wasn’t just a room. It was years of their selfishness. I was done with it.
I blocked them all. This trip was my reset—just without them. The sunset painted the sky pink.
Grief stayed, but I felt stronger. “To freedom,” I whispered, toasting the waves. They roared back.
