voice cut through it.

“Emily. Over here.”

My MIL was already stretched across a lounge chair in a wide-brimmed hat, patting the sand beside her as if I were a dog.

I walked over.

She handed me a folded piece of hotel stationery with her handwriting on it, neat and slanted.

“I made you a little something. To keep the trip organized.”

I opened it, and the continue reading …

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