Then another appeared.
Lauren: Relax. By the time she realizes, we’ll already be drinking champagne at the resort.
I said nothing.
That evening Ethan told me he had an “important regional conference” coming up. His mother, Patricia, supposedly had a medical appointment in California. His sister Lauren claimed she would be visiting friends.
Three separate lies for one family vacation.
And apparently I was the joke holding them together.
So I smiled.
I helped Ethan choose shirts.
I reminded him to pack sunscreen.
When Patricia called, I politely wished her luck with her imaginary appointment.
What none of them knew was that Ethan kept all our travel documents in a locked drawer in his home office.
What Ethan had forgotten was that I knew where he kept the spare key.
At 5:18 Saturday morning, I watched his SUV disappear down our street. Ethan had picked up Patricia and Lauren on his way to Denver International Airport.
He believed his passport was inside the leather travel wallet in his carry-on.
It wasn’t.
Neither were Patricia’s or Lauren’s.
I had removed all three the night before and replaced them with expired photocopies tucked inside identical sleeves.
At 6:47, my phone started ringing.
Ethan.
I ignored it.
Then Lauren.
Then Patricia.
Finally a text arrived.
ETHAN: Claire. Where are the passports?
I walked into our backyard carrying the three navy-blue booklets.
I placed them in our old steel fire bowl, struck a match, and watched the corners curl.
Then I took a photograph.
Flames climbed over Ethan’s passport first.
Patricia’s followed.
Lauren’s was already blackening at the edges.
My phone rang again.
I sent the photograph to the family group chat.
For nearly thirty seconds, nobody answered.
Then Ethan called.
I accepted.
His voice exploded through the speaker.
“What the hell did you do?”
I looked at the fire.
→
See more on the next page