At dinner, my sister threw water on my pregnant wife’s dress and sneered, “Don’t sit there, that’s my spot.” My mom laughed, “Pregnancy makes you clumsy,” while my dad sent her to eat in the kitchen. My wife silently grabbed her coat. I grabbed my keys—and called the travel concierge. “Cancel the first-class flights and VIP Mediterranean cruise resort.” On Monday, my family arrived at the airport with designer luggage. Then security escorted them out.

I paused, picturing the exact moment the trap would snap shut.

“Make the flight cancellations effective immediately, William. I want them to find out when they hand over their passports.”

“Understood, sir,” William said, his tone shifting into pure compliance. “The reservations are voided. Is there anything else?”

“Not for you. Thank you, William.”

 

I hung up the phone.

As I placed the device on the desk, it buzzed loudly, vibrating against the wood.

The screen illuminated. It was a text message in the “Vance Family” group chat.

It was from my mother, Eleanor.

Hope Clara is done pouting. You really need to control her dramatics, Arthur. We need to leave for the airport at 6 AM sharp on Monday. Make sure she uses your card to buy Vanessa a new silk top online; her water glass slipped because Clara bumped the table so aggressively. See you at the airport.