The beach shimmered under the hot sun, the waves rolling in a rhythm that almost made me forget the heaviness I carried inside. I lay back on the lounge chair, the sun warming my shoulders until my skin tingled like fire.
Beside me, Ruth dug her toes into the sand and sipped her orange juice, ice cubes clinking against the cup 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 work swallows us up again.”
We tapped our cups together like it was champagne, though mine already tasted watered down. For a moment, it felt like we were twenty again—carefree, wild, and light.
But truth be told, life after thirty had been a blur. Work piling up, bills never-ending, the house either too empty or too loud, my boys tugging at me in a hundred different ways. Somewhere in all that chaos, I had set my family down like a pair of lost keys… and forgotten where.
Then Ruth’s phone buzzed. Loud. She snatched it up, cheerful.
“Anna! Hi, sis!” she beamed, her laughter ringing out over the sand.
I turned my face toward the waves, embarrassed. I hadn’t called my brothers in years. Hearing Ruth chat so freely with her sister made me feel hollow.
When she hung up, she was glowing.
“Anna’s throwing another pool party. More than a hundred people this time. I adore her parties.”
“A hundred?” I raised my brow. “What kind of party is that?”
“Not just friends,” Ruth said, swirling her straw. “Neighbors, coworkers, cousins. Everyone ends up there. It’s chaos—but the fun kind.”
She looked at me sideways. “Wait… do you have siblings?”
“Four brothers.”
“Four?” she nearly choked on her juice. “And you’ve never mentioned them?”
I bit my lip. “Truth is, I haven’t talked to them in years.”
“Years? Megan, they’re family.”
“We all moved to different towns. Life got busy,” I muttered.
“But the holidays?” she pressed.
I stared down at my chipped nails. “We used to go to Mom’s every Thanksgiving. But I skipped the last few. Sent gifts in the mail instead.”
“That’s… sad,” she whispered.
I forced a smile that felt heavy. “Anyway. I’ll see you at Anna’s party. I need to head home.”
Her words clung to me like sand stuck to wet skin—annoying, impossible to shake, and a reminder of something I didn’t want to face.
When I got home, I was tired but restless. The beach had been nice, but Ruth’s questions scratched at me like claws in the back of my mind. Why had I let years slip by without a call? Without even trying?
I slipped off my sandals and checked the mailbox. Bills. Junk. Coupons. Then—an envelope stopped me cold. Plain, no return label, but the handwriting was hers. My mother’s.
My chest tightened. My hands shook as I tore it open.
“When you read this, it means I am no longer around…”
The words blurred as tears rushed in. My hands trembled so badly I nearly dropped the page. It was written in her careful hand—the same handwriting I remembered from lunchbox notes in grade school. She blessed me. Told me she wished I’d visited more. Told me not to carry regret.
But all I could hear was silence. The silence I had left between us. The empty chairs at holidays. The phone calls I never returned. She had been only an hour away, and I always said, Next time.
But now… next time was gone.
The phone rang, sharp in the quiet. I answered with a shaky voice.
“You got the letter too?” It was Tom. His voice was raw.
A sob tore out of me. “I can’t believe it.”
“Caleb, David, and Luke all got one,” he said softly. “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,” I croaked.
After the call, I sank onto the couch, clutching the letter. Guilt pressed down like stone. Memories flickered—Sunday dinners, her laugh in the kitchen, the way she brushed my hair back when I cried. And I hadn’t been there.
The next day, Anna’s pool party loomed. I wanted to cancel. But Ruth wasn’t answering my messages. By afternoon, worried, I went.
Music thumped from huge speakers, rattling the fence. The smell of grilled burgers filled the air. Kids splashed in the pool, their laughter sharp and bright. People in swimsuits walked everywhere, drinks in hand.
I clutched a small gift bag, feeling like I didn’t belong.
“Ruth! You never answered my calls!” I said when I spotted her.
“You called? Sorry, I was busy having fun!” she laughed. “Why so sad?”
“Family matter came up,” I muttered.
Before I could slip away, she caught my arm.
“There you are. Come on, let’s find Anna.”
We wove through the crowd. My head pounded with the music. Faces blurred—neighbors, cousins, strangers.
Then I froze. Out of the corner of my eye, on a lounge chair, a woman rested with sunglasses on, a bright drink in hand. Her gray hair glowed in the sun. She hummed softly, tapping her foot to the music.
My chest seized.
I grabbed Ruth’s arm. “Do you see that?!”
“Who?” she blinked.
“That woman. That’s my mom.”
Ruth’s jaw dropped. “Megan… she’s Anna’s neighbor. Everyone loves her.”
I fumbled for my phone, voice cracking.
“Tom. Caleb. David. Luke. Get here. Now.”
Half an hour later, my brothers arrived, pale and shaken. We stood together at the pool’s edge, staring at the impossible.
Mom sat laughing with strangers, her gray hair shimmering. She looked alive.
Tom muttered, “Either we’re hallucinating, or Mom faked her death.”
I clenched my fists. “Let’s go.”
We marched forward. The music faded in my ears.
“Mom,” I said sharply. “What is this?”
She lifted her sunglasses, cool as ever. “Oh. You came.”
“Came?” Caleb shouted. “We buried you in our hearts! You sent us letters saying you were gone!”
Her lips curved 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 turned red.
“Do you know what you put us through? The guilt—the nights we cried—”
“Do you know what you put me through?” she shot back, her voice sharp. She stood, setting her glass down.
“Five children. Not one visited. Every holiday, excuses. Too busy. Too tired. Too far. I waited by the window 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, her eyes flashing.
“And look at you. Standing here. Together. Talking. Crying. Like you should’ve been all along.”
The crowd had gone quiet, whispers circling us. My throat ached.
“We thought we lost you,” I whispered.
Her face softened. She reached out, brushing my cheek.
“Maybe you needed that fear to remember I’m still here.”
The words cut deep, because she wasn’t wrong.
We sat by the pool together—Mom in the middle, us kids leaning close like we hadn’t in years.
“I didn’t want you to hurt,” she said. “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 simply.
Silence. Then Caleb chuckled through his tears.
“Only Mom would fake her death at a pool party.”
She grinned. “And only my kids would believe it.”
We laughed, shaky but real.
Mom raised her glass. “To second chances.”
We clinked cups, bottles, even a pool toy. As the sun set over Anna’s crowded backyard, I felt something I hadn’t in years.
Hope.