My husband insisted my little sister join our annual camping trip after her breakup. I thought he was being kind—until my five-year-old tugged my sleeve and whispered, “Mommy, we should poke breathing holes in Daddy’s sleeping bag so Aunt Lisa can breathe.” My blood ran cold.
I zipped up the last duffel bag and loaded it into the trunk.
Emma spun in circles on the driveway with her pink backpack bouncing against her shoulders.
Ryan came out of the garage carrying the fishing rods.
“Are we sure we packed enough marshmallows?” I asked, half-joking.
Ryan grinned.
“For Emma? Never.”
I zipped up the last duffel bag
Our daughter had been camping since before she could walk.
Every summer, the three of us picked a new trail, a new lake, a new patch of wilderness.
It was our thing.
This year, though, Ryan had suggested something different.
“I think we should invite Lisa,” he had said one evening over dinner.
“Lisa? Really?”
It was our thing.
“She’s been a wreck since Daniel left her,” he said gently. “She shouldn’t spend the whole summer alone in that apartment. She needs her family.”
My chest warmed at his kindness.
“You’re right,” I said. “I’ll call her tonight.”
Lisa cried on the phone when I invited her.
She said she felt like she was drowning without Daniel and couldn’t understand why he had walked out so suddenly.
“She needs her family.”
After our parents died, I had practically raised Lisa.
She was more daughter than sister in some ways.
***
The drive up to the lake was full of Emma’s chatter and Lisa’s soft laughter from the back seat.
“Aunt Lisa, watch me find the biggest rock ever,” Emma announced.
What happened next changed everything… FULL STORY on the next page.
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