The sun was blazing, wrapping me in a warmth that felt almost like fire against my skin. I stretched out on the lounge chair, letting myself sink into the moment.
Beside me, Ruth sat with her toes buried in the sand, sipping her orange juice over ice. The cubes clinked together like little bells, crisp and cheerful.
“This,” I sighed, tilting my head back and closing my eyes, “is exactly what I needed.”
Ruth grinned, her sunglasses sliding down her nose.
“Amen to that. I haven’t had a vacation in over a year. Just one week to breathe before work swallows us whole again.”
We clinked our plastic cups like they were champagne flutes. My drink was watered down, but the gesture still made me smile.
For a moment, it felt like we were twenty again—carefree, laughing, with no weight pulling us down. But I wasn’t twenty. Past thirty, life had only gotten faster, like I was chasing something I couldn’t quite catch. Work, bills, the house that was either too loud or too quiet, my boys needing me in ways I didn’t always understand. Somewhere along the way, I had put my family down—like misplacing your keys and forgetting where you left them.
Then Ruth’s phone buzzed loud against her chair. She answered quickly, cheerful.
“Anna! Hi, sis!”
Her laugh bubbled out, carefree and bright. I turned my head toward the waves, guilt washing over me. I hadn’t called my brothers in years. Hearing her chatter to her sister made me feel hollow inside.
When Ruth hung up, her face was glowing.
“Anna’s throwing another pool party. More than a hundred people, she said. I love 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 shows up. It’s chaos, but the good kind.”
Then she glanced at me, sharp. “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! They’re family.”
I shifted uncomfortably. “We all moved to different towns. Life got busy.”
“But what about holidays?” she pressed.
I looked down at my chipped nails. “We used to go to Mom’s every Thanksgiving. But… I skipped the last few. Sent gifts through the mail instead.”
“That’s… sad,” she whispered, shaking her head.
I forced a smile that weighed like stone. “Anyway. I’ll see you at Anna’s party. I need to get home.”
Her words stayed with me like sand stuck to wet skin—impossible to brush off, irritating, and reminding me of what I didn’t want to face.
When I got home, I was restless. The beach had been relaxing, but Ruth’s questions clawed at me. Why had I let years pass without a call? Without even trying?
I slipped off my sandals and checked the mailbox. Bills. Coupons. Junk. Then I froze. One plain envelope, no return label, but the handwriting—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 through my tears. I could barely breathe.
The letter was written in that same careful hand I remembered from childhood lunchbox notes. She blessed me, said she wished I’d visit more, told me not to carry regret. But all I could hear was the silence I’d left between us.
The holidays I’d missed. The calls I ignored. She had lived just an hour away, and I’d always said “Next time.” But now… there was no next time.
The phone rang, sharp in the quiet. I picked up with a shaky voice.
“You got the letter too?” Tom’s voice was rough.
A sob escaped me. “I can’t believe it.”
“Caleb, David, and Luke all got one too,” he said quietly. “None of us knew she was sick.”
“We’re horrible children,” I whispered.
He let out a long sigh. “We’re meeting tomorrow. At her house. We’ll figure it out.”
“I’ll be there.” My throat burned as I said it.
I sank onto the couch, clutching the letter. Guilt crushed me. Memories flashed—her laugh in the kitchen, her Sunday dinners, the way she brushed my hair back when I cried. And I hadn’t been there.
Ruth’s voice echoed in my mind. Anna’s party. I’d already promised. But how could I laugh when my heart was breaking? I asked Ruth to give Anna her gift for me. But the next day, Ruth wasn’t answering her phone.
Worried, I went to Anna’s house.
Music boomed from speakers, the smell of burgers hung in the air, kids splashed in the pool. Bright swimsuits, dripping towels, red plastic cups everywhere. I felt like a stranger with the small bag clutched in my hand.
“Ruth! You didn’t answer my calls!” I said when I spotted her.
She smiled. “You called? Sorry, I was busy having fun! Why do you look so sad?” She squeezed my arm, then drifted away laughing with friends.
“Family matter,” I muttered.
Before I could leave, she grabbed me again. “Come on, let’s find Anna together.”
We pushed through the crowd. Faces blurred. Music pounded. Then suddenly—I froze.
On a lounge chair by the pool, a woman with gray hair sat humming softly, sunglasses on her nose, a bright drink in her hand. She tapped her foot to the rhythm, alive, glowing.
My breath caught.
I grabbed Ruth’s arm. “Do you see that?!”
“Who?” she asked.
I pointed, shaking. “That woman. That’s my mom.”
Ruth’s jaw dropped. “Megan… that’s Anna’s neighbor. Everyone adores her. She’s the life of the party.”
Heat rushed to my face. I pulled out my phone, voice trembling. “Tom. Caleb. David. Luke. Get here. Now.”
Half an hour later, my brothers stood beside me, pale and stunned. We stared at her together—our mother, alive.
Tom muttered, “Either we’re losing our minds, or Mom faked her death.”
I clenched my fists. “Let’s go.”
We marched forward. Music throbbed, but it felt far away.
“Mom,” I said sharply, my voice breaking. “What is this?”
She lifted her sunglasses, calm 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 burned red. “Do you know what you put us through? The guilt, the grief—”
“Do you know what you put me through?” she snapped, standing tall.
“Five children, and not one came to visit. Every holiday, I sat waiting. Excuses, excuses—too busy, too far. I was done waiting.”
Luke’s eyes brimmed with tears. “So you lied? You made us believe—”
“I reminded you what matters,” she cut in. “And look at you now. Together. Talking. Crying. Like you should’ve been all along.”
The crowd had gone quiet, whispering around us. My throat closed.
“We thought we lost you,” I whispered.
Her face softened. She touched my cheek. “Maybe you needed that fear to remember I’m still here.”
Her words sliced deep, and the painful truth was—I knew she was right.
We sat by the pool, Mom in the middle, us close around her like kids again. She shook her head.
“I didn’t want you to hurt. 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 said simply.
Silence. Then Caleb let out a shaky laugh through tears. “Only Mom would fake her death at a pool party.”
She grinned. “And only my kids would believe it.”
We laughed too, weak but real.
For the first time in years, we were together. Not for a funeral—but for life.
Mom raised her glass. “To second chances.”
We clinked cups, bottles, even a pool toy. And as the sun set over Anna’s crowded backyard, I felt something I hadn’t in years.
Hope.