After bu.rying my husband, I told no one about the ticket I had bought for a year-long cruise. A week later, my son told me, “Now that Dad is d.ead, you’ll take care of our new pets every time we travel.”

I didn’t tell them that three months before my husband’s death I had secretly bought a ticket for a year-long cruise through the Mediterranean, Asia, and Latin America. I hadn’t done it out of madness or whim. I had done it because for years I had felt that my life had been reduced to taking care of everyone except myself.

During the week after the burial, Daniel came to the house twice. The first time was to review inheritance paperwork with an urgency that left me cold. The second time he arrived with his wife, Marta, carrying two pet carriers and an unbearable smile. Inside were two small dogs, nervous and noisy, which they said they had bought “so the girls could learn responsibility.” But the girls barely paid attention to them. The real one responsible would be me.

Daniel said it in the kitchen while I was making coffee:
“Now that Dad isn’t here, you can keep them every time we travel. After all, you’re alone and it’ll be good for you to have company.”

He didn’t even ask. He decided it.

Marta added, “Besides, it’ll keep you busy.”