Ethan’s voice dropped an octave, the tone shifting from rehearsed firmness to a heavy, exhausted pleading.

The interior of The Horizon was breathtaking, not because it shouted wealth, but because it whispered peace.

When I pushed the heavy teak doors all the way open, the first thing that hit me was the light. Floor-to-ceiling glass walls spanned the entire width of the rear facade, framing a panoramic, unbroken view of the Atlantic Ocean. The water shifted in undulating shades of turquoise, sapphire, and jade, crashing in gentle, rhythmic white foam against the private beach just beyond the pool deck.

Marcus placed my single carry-on bag in the grand entryway, bowed slightly, and quietly let himself out, leaving me alone in the vast expanse of my new home.

I walked slowly across the polished limestone floors, my footsteps echoing softly in the cavernous space.

The main salon was decorated in neutral tones of sand, linen, and seafoam green, accented by minimalist walnut furniture and oversized contemporary art pieces that caught the afternoon sunlight. To the left lay a professional chef’s kitchen equipped with gleaming professional-grade appliances, a marble waterfall island, and a walk-in pantry currently stocked with fresh provisions by the estate manager I had hired remotely.

To the right, a wide corridor led to the private wing: a primary suite that occupied the entire second floor of the eastern pavilion.

I took the private elevator up to the second floor.

The primary bedroom was a sanctuary of quiet luxury. A king-sized bed draped in crisp white Egyptian cotton faced a wall of glass that opened onto a private wrap-around balcony overlooking the ocean. The adjoining bathroom featured a freestanding soaking tub carved from a single block of Italian marble, a rain shower with multiple body jets, and dual walk-in closets larger than my old Queens bedroom.

I walked out onto the balcony and gripped the glass railing.

Down below, the infinity pool stretched toward the horizon, its surface shimmering like liquid diamonds under the descending tropical sun. A stone pathway wound through manicured sea oats down to the private stretch of sand where the tide was beginning to recede, leaving wet mirrors of gold and amber across the shore.

It was paradise.

And yet, as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in streaked shades of violet and tangerine, a familiar ache settled into my chest.

I pulled out my phone and dialed Ethan.

It rang three times before he answered. In the background, I could hear the muffled sound of clinking wine glasses, polite laughter, and the high-pitched chatter of television commercials.

"Mom?" Ethan’s voice sounded distracted, slightly breathless. "Hey! Everything okay?"

"I'm fine, Ethan," I said quietly, leaning against the glass railing of my balcony. "Just calling to check in. How’s dinner going?"

"Oh, it's great. Bianca’s parents arrived an hour ago. The roast is in the oven, and Noah is already playing with his cousins in the den."

"That's wonderful," I said.

"Yeah, it’s... it’s really nice. Listen, Mom, things are a little chaotic right now with the cooking and everything. Can I call you tomorrow? Boxing Day?"

"Of course, son. Enjoy your family."

"Thanks, Mom. Love you. Bye."

The line disconnected.

I lowered the phone and stared out at the dark, rolling expanse of the Atlantic Ocean. The white foam of the waves looked like lace tossed across black velvet.