The call came just as I pulled the roast lamb from the oven. Nolan’s voice was light, almost cheerful: “We’re all going to Maui next Wednesday. Flights and resort are booked.” My grip tightened on the phone. Again. The third “family vacation” in three years of marriage—and once more, I wasn’t invited.
“The villa only has three bedrooms,” he explained, as if that justified leaving me behind. “It’d be a mess if too many people came.” I looked at the table set for two, the dishes I’d prepared with care, and felt my hope curdle like the food now bound for the trash. My reflection in the silver tray was a stranger: pale, tense, betrayed.....
