The sun poured down on the beach, warm and heavy, kissing my skin until it glowed like fire. I stretched back on the lounge chair, eyes closed, letting the waves and laughter wash over me. For once, I felt like maybe the world had slowed down.
Beside me, Ruth sat with her toes buried in the hot sand, sipping her orange juice over ice. The cubes clinked against the plastic cup, tinkling like tiny bells.
“This,” I sighed, letting my head fall back, “is exactly what I needed.”
She grinned, her sunglasses sliding down her nose. “Amen. I haven’t had a vacation in over a year. Just one week to breathe before we’re swallowed back by work.”
We tapped our cups together like they were champagne glasses, though mine already tasted watery. For a moment, it almost felt like we were twenty again—carefree, light, and unburdened.
But the truth was, life after thirty had only sped up. Work. Bills. My boys pulling me in every direction. The house that was either too empty or too loud. Somewhere in that whirlwind, I had misplaced my own family—like setting down your keys and never finding them again.
Ruth’s phone buzzed against the chair. She sat up, cheerful as always. “Anna! Hi, sis!”
Her laugh rang out across the sand, bright and careless. I turned toward the waves, embarrassed. I hadn’t called my brothers in years. Hearing her chatter made my chest hollow.
She hung up, glowing. “Anna’s throwing another pool party. More than a hundred people, she says. I adore her parties.”
“A hundred?” I raised a brow. “What kind of party is that?”
“Not just friends,” Ruth explained, twirling her straw. “Neighbors, coworkers, cousins. Everyone ends up there. It’s chaos, but the good kind.”
She paused, then tilted her head. “Wait—you have siblings?”
“Four brothers.”
Her mouth dropped. “Four? And you’ve never mentioned them?”
I bit my lip. “Truth? I haven’t talked to them in years.”
“Years? Megan!” Her voice sharpened. “They’re your family.”
“We all moved to different towns. Life got busy,” I muttered, staring down at my chipped nails.
“But holidays?” she pressed.
“Used to go to Mom’s every Thanksgiving,” I admitted. “But I skipped the last few. Just mailed gifts instead.”
“That’s… sad,” she whispered, shaking her head.
I forced a heavy smile. “Anyway. I’ll see you at Anna’s party. I need to get home.”
But Ruth’s words lingered like wet sand clinging to my skin—irritating, impossible to shake off, reminding me of what I didn’t want to face.
That evening, tired but restless, I slipped off my sandals and went to check the mailbox. Bills. Coupons. Junk. Then one envelope froze me in place. No return label. Just handwriting I knew by heart. My mother’s.
My chest tightened as if someone had reached in and squeezed my lungs. With shaking hands, I tore it open.
“When you read this, it means I am no longer around…”
The words blurred through my tears. My hands shook so hard I almost dropped the page.
Her careful script continued—blessings, wishes that I wouldn’t carry regret. But all I could see were the empty chairs at holidays, the phone calls I ignored, the “next times” that never came. She’d been only an hour away, and I hadn’t gone.
The phone rang, sharp and cruel. I picked up, my voice trembling.
“You got the letter too?” It was Tom, his voice raw.
A sob escaped. “I can’t believe it.”
“Caleb, David, and Luke all got one,” he said quietly. “None of us knew she was sick.”
“We’re horrible children,” I whispered.
He sighed. “We’re meeting tomorrow. At her house. We’ll figure it out.”
“I’ll be there.”
When the call ended, I sank onto the couch, clutching the letter to my chest. Memories rushed in—her laugh in the kitchen, her Sunday dinners, her hand brushing my hair when I cried. And I hadn’t been there.
The next day came with Ruth’s unanswered calls. She wasn’t texting either, and worry nagged at me until I found myself walking into Anna’s yard.
Music pounded from tall black speakers, rattling the fence. The smell of burgers drifted thick in the air. Kids splashed in the pool, shrieking with joy. Everywhere I looked—bright swimsuits, dripping towels, strangers with red cups.
I clutched the small gift bag in my hands, out of place.
“Ruth! You never answered my calls!” I said when I finally spotted her.
She gave a careless smile. “You called? Sorry, I was busy having fun! Why do you look so sad?”
“Family matter,” I said quietly.
Before I could leave, she caught my arm. “Come on, let’s find Anna together.”
We pushed through the crowd. Faces blurred—neighbors, cousins, coworkers. My head pounded with the bass. Then I froze.
On a lounge chair by the pool, a woman sat with sunglasses perched on her nose, a bright drink in hand. Her gray hair shimmered in the sun. She tapped her foot to the rhythm, humming.
I couldn’t breathe. My hand clamped onto Ruth’s arm. “Do you see that?!”
She blinked. “Who?”
“That woman.” My voice cracked. “That’s my mom.”
Ruth stared. “Megan… that’s Anna’s neighbor. Everyone loves her.”
My stomach flipped. With shaking hands, I called my brothers. “Tom. Caleb. David. Luke. Get here. Now.”
Half an hour later, we stood together at the pool’s edge, five children staring at the impossible sight. Mom—alive. Laughing. Glowing under the sun.
Tom muttered, “Either we’re hallucinating, or Mom faked her own death.”
I clenched my fists. “Let’s go.”
We marched forward. My voice broke as I called out, “Mom. What is this?”
She lifted her sunglasses coolly. “Oh. You came.”
“Came?” Caleb’s voice cracked. “We buried you in our hearts! You told us you were gone!”
Her lips curled into a sly smile. “And you showed up, didn’t you? Guess I had to die to see my children together again.”
David’s face burned red. “Do you know what you put us through? The guilt, the tears—”
“Do you know what you put me through?” she snapped back, standing strong. “Five children, and not one came to visit. Every holiday, I waited. Too busy. Too far. Excuses. I sat by the window watching for headlights that never came. I was done waiting.”
Luke’s eyes filled with tears. “So you lied? You made us believe—”
“I reminded you what matters,” she said sharply. “And look—you’re together now. Talking. Crying. Like you should’ve been all along.”
The crowd around us had gone quiet, whispering. My throat tightened. “We thought we lost you,” I whispered.
Her face softened. She reached out, brushing my cheek with her hand. “Maybe you needed that fear to remember I’m still here.”
Her words cut deep, because she wasn’t wrong.
We sat with her by the pool, my brothers and I leaning close like children again.
“I didn’t want you to hurt,” she said softly. “I wanted you to wake up. Life is short. Don’t waste it drifting apart.”
Tom sighed. “We failed you.”
“Then stop failing each other,” she replied.
Silence fell. Then Caleb let out a watery chuckle. “Only Mom would fake her death at a pool party.”
She grinned. “And only my kids would believe it.”
We laughed—shaky, but real.
For the first time in years, we were together. Not for a funeral. For life.
Mom raised her glass. “To second chances.”
We clinked whatever we had—cups, bottles, even a wet pool toy. And as the sun sank over Anna’s crowded backyard, I felt something I hadn’t in years.
Hope.