On A Family Cruise, My Son Was Laughing. My Daughter-In-Law Was Taking Photos. The Waitress Came Close And Slipped Me A Note Under The Table. It Said: Call For Help. I Stayed Calm. I Tucked The Note And Nodded. Twenty Minutes Later, They Were Tight-Lipped In FRONT OF THE CREW.

Not spinning, not quite dizzy—just fogged, like someone had turned the dimmer switch on my brain. I blinked a few times and focused on Lyanna, who was talking about how cruises helped people reconnect. She smiled a lot, used my first name more than usual, said things like, “You deserve to be pampered.

You’ve given your whole life to others.” Her words landed soft, but something about them felt rehearsed. She asked about my medications, wanted to know if I still took the little blue pills for my blood pressure. I nodded slowly, pretending not to notice the way her eyes flicked toward her phone as she typed something.

Later that afternoon, we all went up to the top deck. The breeze helped clear my head, but the fatigue clung to me like wet wool. I leaned on the railing and watched the coastline drift.

Darren handed me a glass of lemonade. It tasted slightly off. Not bad, just not right.

I set it down and said I’d rather have water. Lyanna quickly jumped in, offering me a chilled bottle from her tote bag. That night, dinner was served in the captain’s lounge.

Candle light, soft music, and some seafood dish I couldn’t pronounce. My appetite was thin. I picked at the food while Darren recounted stories from his new business venture—something about crypto software.

I nodded along, though most of it flew over me. When dessert came, Lyanna reached for the teapot again. “A different blend,” she said.

“Lavender and chamomile helps with digestion.”

Continue reading…