For years, my wife Maggie and I had been dreaming of our 40th wedding anniversary trip—a peaceful, romantic getaway, just the two of us. We had carefully planned every detail, booking a cozy little inn on the coast of Maine where we could wake up to the sound of waves and sip coffee on the deck as the sun rose. It was supposed to be our time to celebrate four decades of love, partnership, and memories.
But then our daughter, Jane, found out about our plans. And everything started to unravel.
It was our oldest son, Frank, who accidentally let it slip over dinner. As soon as the words left his mouth, Jane’s eyes widened. She put down her fork and stared at us.
“Wait, what? You’re going on a trip? And you weren’t even going to tell me?”
I could already see where this was headed, so I stayed quiet. Maggie, always the gentle peacemaker, shifted in her seat. “Oh, sweetheart, it’s just a little getaway for our anniversary.”
Jane scoffed. “A little getaway? Without us? Without the grandkids? How could you leave us out?” She shook her head, her tone turning dramatic. “The kids adore you both! Do you know how hurt they’ll be when they find out you went on this amazing trip and didn’t want them there?”
I sighed. Our youngest child had always been good at playing the guilt card, especially with her mother. I glanced at Maggie and saw her hesitate. She had always struggled to say no to Jane.
Jane leaned in, lowering her voice to sound more persuasive. “Mom, this could be a once-in-a-lifetime chance for us to bond. You’re always saying how important family is, aren’t you? Dad?”
I took a deep breath and decided to step in before Maggie caved. “Jane, this trip is for us—just your mom and me. It’s our anniversary.”
Jane pressed a hand to her chest, as if I had just insulted her. “Exactly! That’s why it’s so important for the whole family to be part of it. What could be more special than celebrating together?”
The conversation didn’t end there. Over the next few weeks, Jane ramped up her efforts. She called Maggie daily, sometimes roping me into the conversation too. Each time, she had a new argument.
“Mom, you’ll regret not including us when the kids are older and too busy to spend time with you.”
“Dad, don’t you want the kids to remember you as fun, involved grandparents?”
Her persistence started to wear Maggie down. One evening, as we sat on the couch, my wife sighed and said, “Maybe we should consider it. Jane might have a point. Family is important.”
“Family IS important,” I agreed, “but so are we. This was supposed to be our time.”
Still, I could see the doubt in her eyes. I knew I was outnumbered. To keep the peace, I reluctantly agreed to change our plans. We canceled our romantic getaway and booked a family-friendly resort in Florida instead. Jane and her husband, Nick, would pay for their airfare, but we would cover the cost of the resort and the grandkids’ tickets.
It wasn’t what I wanted, but I convinced myself it might still be enjoyable.
But as the trip approached, Jane’s demands grew more and more entitled.
“Mom, don’t forget to pack plenty of snacks for the kids,” she said one afternoon over the phone. “You know how picky they are, and I don’t trust resort food.”
Maggie glanced at her growing packing list. “We can bring a few things, but—”
“And you and Dad will take them to the pool, right?” Jane interrupted. “Nick and I could really use some uninterrupted relaxation. It’s not like you guys are doing much else.”
I clenched my jaw, but I held my tongue. Then came the final straw.
Two nights before the trip, Jane called with another casual demand. “Oh, one more thing—can you handle bedtime for the kids at least three or four nights? Nick and I want to check out the nightlife. You’re the pros, after all! And hey, it’s your anniversary trip too, so… bonding time, right?”
That’s when it hit me. This wasn’t going to be a family trip. It was going to be Jane and Nick’s vacation while we played full-time babysitters. Our romantic anniversary getaway was slipping through our fingers.
The next day, I made a decision.
I called Jane and got straight to the point. “Your mom and I had a vision for this trip, and it didn’t include us acting as babysitters for you and Nick.”
Jane groaned. “Dad, you’re being dramatic. It’s not like we’re asking you to take care of them the whole time. You’ll get to have your fun too.”
“Jane, you’re asking us to do bedtime, pool time, and probably everything in between,” I shot back. “We’re not your personal vacation staff!”
Her tone turned sharp. “Do you hear yourself? It’s like you don’t even want to spend time with your grandkids!”
“That’s not it,” I said, trying to stay calm. “But this trip was supposed to be about your mom and me, not you or the kids. We’ve been looking forward to it for years.”
“Fine,” she snapped. “Cancel it then! We’ll just sit at home while you and Mom gallivant around.”
I didn’t respond. I had already made up my mind.
That evening, without telling anyone, I called the airline and switched our tickets back to our original destination.
The day before our flight, I finally told Maggie the truth. “We’re going to Maine. Just the two of us. Like we planned.”
Maggie blinked. “You did what?!”
“Jane will figure it out,” I said. “We deserve this trip. If we don’t take it now, we never will.”
The next morning, we boarded our flight. As the plane soared into the sky, Maggie squeezed my hand. “You know, I think you were right. I’m just worried about Jane’s reaction.”
“She’ll be fine,” I assured her, though I wasn’t entirely sure myself.
When we landed, I called Jane. “We decided to stick to our original plans. We’re not going to the family resort.”
There was silence. Then Jane’s voice exploded. “WHAT?! You left us? How could you do this? We were COUNTING on you!”
“For what, Jane?” I asked calmly.
“For HELP! This trip was only doable because of you and Mom!”
Nick grabbed the phone. “This is unbelievable! Do you have any idea what you’ve done?! You’ve ruined our vacation! We can’t afford babysitters on such short notice. You’re so selfish—on your anniversary, of all times!”
I didn’t argue. I simply hung up.
When we returned a week later, Jane wasn’t speaking to us. Nick posted a passive-aggressive comment online about “people who abandon family.” Maggie felt guilty, but I didn’t. Our week in Maine had been everything we dreamed of—quiet, romantic, and restorative.
Over a candlelit dinner on our last night, Maggie took my hand and smiled. “I’m so glad we came here.”
“So am I,” I said.
Frank later informed us that Jane and her family did go to the resort, but they didn’t enjoy it much. Without us, Jane and Nick had their hands full with the kids and barely got any time alone.
Meanwhile, we had the perfect trip. And for the first time in a long time, I felt like we had truly put ourselves first.
