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The summer of 2003 was supposed to be the kind of summer people remembered fondly for the rest of their lives. For Sarah and Michael Thompson, it was a rare chance to breathe, to step away from the chaos of demanding jobs and the exhausting routine of raising three energetic six-year-olds. Their identical triplets—Ethan, Caleb, and Noah—were at that magical age where every day seemed like an adventure, and the promise of a beach vacation felt like pure magic.
They had chosen a small coastal town in Florida, one of those postcard-perfect places where the sand was so white it looked like sugar, and the water glistened in shades of turquoise and emerald. The Thompsons had rented a charming cottage near the beach, its weathered wooden deck overlooking endless waves. For Sarah, who grew up in a landlocked part of the Midwest, the sound of the ocean had always been something she associated with peace. For Michael, who had recently survived a stressful round of layoffs at his firm, it felt like a reset button—a place where he could forget about corporate uncertainty, at least for two weeks.
