I pulled up my email, opened the reservation confirmations, and got to work. Because guess what? I had booked everything. The hotel? My name.
The rental car? My credit card. The dinner reservations? My account. The resort spa day Susan had been looking forward to for weeks.
Oh yeah, I had booked that too. I cancelled everything. One by one, I wiped their plans off the map.
Their rooms? Cancelled. Their rental car? Gone. Their fancy dinner at the waterfront restaurant? Not happening.
I even called the spa and politely informed them that Susan would not be attending. And then? I packed my bags, took the rental car, and left. While they were clinking glasses and toasting to their perfect vacation, I was already driving down the highway, heading toward Charleston.
I booked myself a luxury suite, ordered room service, and sat on the balcony watching the ocean, finally at peace. Meanwhile, back in Hilton Head? Panic was about to set in. I woke up in Charleston feeling refreshed for the first time in days.
The ocean breeze drifted through my hotel room as I sipped my coffee, stretched out on a plush lounge chair, and watched the waves roll in. Then my phone started vibrating. Mark.
I let it ring. Then Susan. Then Mark again.
Then Richard. I turned my phone on silent and smiled. They had finally noticed.
I imagined the exact moment the realization hit them. Richard, stepping out of bed, groggy and grumbling, only to be met by a hotel manager at the door. Sir, there seems to be an issue with your reservation.
Susan, mid-stretch, rolling over to grab her phone, ready to check the itinerary for the day, only to see a string of cancellation emails. Mark, rubbing his temples, confused, still half-asleep, hearing his mother’s voice escalate from mild irritation to full-on screaming. They had no rooms.
No car. No plans. I smiled into my coffee.
A few hours later, when I finally got tired of the silence, I checked my messages. Mark, where are you? Mark, what the hell is going on? Mark, you need to fix this. Now.
I decided to pick up his next call, just for fun. Where are you? Mark demanded the second, I answered. Charleston.
A pause. Charleston? What the hell are you doing there? Enjoying my vacation. Silence.
I could hear voices in the background, Susan was yelling at the hotel staff, Richard was swearing under his breath. You cancelled everything? Mark finally asked, his voice lower now, like he still couldn’t quite believe it. Yes.
He sucked in a sharp breath. Do you have any idea what you’ve done? My parents have nowhere to stay. We had plans.
You left us stranded, oh no, I said, voice dripping with fake concern. That must be so uncomfortable. Mark was silent again, probably realizing I had used his own words against him.
I continued, you all wanted me to be separate. So I gave you what you wanted. This is insane, he snapped.
You need to come back. I laughed. No, Mark.
I really don’t. And I hung up. I later found out just how badly things went for them.
With the hotel fully booked, they had to scramble to find another place to stay. They ended up in a dingy roadside motel, 20 minutes away from the resort. The kind with flickering lights and a weird smell in the air.
No rental car meant they had to Uber everywhere, but Hilton Head isn’t exactly packed with rideshare drivers. Surge pricing hit them hard. And the fancy dinner Richard had been bragging about for weeks? Fully booked now.
They had to eat at a random tourist trap, surrounded by screaming kids and bad seafood. Susan threw a full-on tantrum at the spa when she realized her reservation was gone. She demanded they fit her in anyway.
They didn’t. I got all of this from the angry texts Mark sent later. Mark, you seriously just left us like this? Mark, mom is furious.
She was humiliated at the spa. Mark, dad is losing his mind over the restaurant. Mark, I hope you’re happy.
I was. I thought that would be the worst of it for them. A little inconvenience, a taste of their own medicine.
But then, something really interesting happened. A few hours later, my phone buzzed again. This time, it wasn’t Mark.