Page 41 of It’s Me, but Different

“Really?” Margaret seems surprised by my decision. “What happened to all that shit about having more time for your kids and all that?”

“I've reconsidered my priorities,” I lie, while wiping tears with the back of my hand and trying not to sob. “I couldstart Monday if necessary. As you said, the kids will adapt, I'm sure of it.”

“Perfect. I'll send you the contracts by email within an hour at most. And let me welcome you as a partner at the firm, Esme. I'm convinced you'll be a great addition.”

When I hang up, I stare at the phone for several minutes. I just accepted a job I know will make me a miserable person for many years. I just condemned my children to a lifestyle they don't want. All for more money and to shut up the Merriweather sisters.

But I can't stay here. Not after this.

I head to the bedroom like an automaton and start taking clothes out of the closet. My hands tremble so much I can barely hold the hangers.

“Mom?” Ana Sofia's voice startles me from the door. “What are you doing?”

“We're leaving, honey. Pack your things,” I murmur, lowering my head to avoid looking into her eyes.

“Leaving?” Theo appears behind his sister, with wide eyes. “Now? But we're supposed to have dinner with Lumi!”

“An emergency came up,” I lie, hating myself for having to do it. “We have to be in Denver tomorrow morning. We're leaving for the airport now.”

“What kind of emergency?” Ana Sofia insists with that annoyingly intuitive sense kids sometimes have. “Did something happen to Grandma?”

“No, honey. It's… it's complicated. Pack your bags, please. We're leaving in half an hour.”

“But Mom!” Theo protests. “We haven't finished our vacation! And Lumi was going to show us her secret place tonight!”

“We're leaving. Pack your bags. Now.”

“Can we at least say goodbye to Sloane?” Ana Sofia asks with tears in her eyes. “Please, Mom!”

“NO!” I shout, making my children jump when they hear my tone of voice.

The twins look at me as if they don't know me. And they're probably right, because I don't recognize myself either.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to shout,” I whisper. “Just... just pack your bags, please.”

They go to their room in silence, heads down, and I can hear worried whispers. They're probably thinking I've gone crazy.

When we go down to the hotel lobby, it's late and there are few people. Perfect.

“Wait here,” I tell them, seating them in a comfortable armchair by one of the fireplaces. “I have to do something at the reception first.”

I approach the counter, where a young girl smiles politely when she sees me.

“How can I help you?”

“Could you deliver this to Sloane Merriweather?” I ask, handing her a white envelope.

I just wrote the cruelest letter of my life. Every word chosen to hurt. Full of hate. Every sentence is designed to wound as much as they've wounded me.

“Sloane,

Congratulations. Your plan worked perfectly. The naive 20-year-old college student no longer exists, but apparently I'm still stupid enough to fall for your games.

Thanks for reminding me why I don't trust people with money. You've always believed you can buy whatever you want. Even feelings.

Well, surprise. That's not the case anymore. I won't make the same mistake twice. You've made it clear that you have indeed changed, but for the worse. Now you've outdone yourself. You're the most despicable being I've ever met in my entire life.

PS: Give Harper my thanks for the performance. She almost convinced me the job was real. She's right, sometimes the best plans are the ones that seem like perfect coincidences.