“That’s because you’re finally where you should be—with yourself.”
That night I slept soundly again. I dreamed of the sea, of walking on the beach aimlessly, of having time for everything and a hurry for nothing.
Christmas Day dawned just as beautiful. Paula and I had a late breakfast, with no alarms, no obligations. Then we went for a walk on a trail that bordered the coast. The landscape was breathtaking—rocks, wild vegetation, the sea stretching out infinitely.
In the afternoon, we decided to go to the town’s restaurant. It was a small, family‑run place. There were other people there also spending a peaceful Christmas—an older couple, a group of friends. Everyone seemed happy, relaxed.
We ordered fresh fish and a bottle of white wine. The food was delicious, prepared with care and affection. It wasn’t an elaborate fifteen‑course dinner. It was simple, but it had something the dinners I used to prepare never had: I could enjoy it without worrying about serving others.
While we ate, my phone started vibrating in my purse. I ignored it. It kept vibrating. Paula looked at me.
“Are you going to answer?”
“No.”
But the vibration continued, insistent, annoying. Finally, I took out the phone. It was Amanda calling, over and over.
I sighed and answered.
“Yes?”
“Mom.” Her voice sounded different, controlled but tense. “We need to talk.”
“I’m busy.”
“You’re busy?” she repeated in a tone I couldn’t decipher. “It’s Christmas Day and you’re busy?”
“That’s right.”
“Robert and I are coming to your house tomorrow. We need to sort this out.”
“There’s nothing to sort out, Amanda. I’ve already made my decision.”
“You can’t just leave and pretend you don’t have responsibilities.”
“My only responsibilities are to myself. You’re adults. You have to learn to manage your own lives.”
“What about the kids? What did they do wrong?”
