Not because I planned to cook.

Because I planned something they would remember.

At 4:05, I made coffee.

One cup.

Mine.

Then I opened my laptop and sent three emails.

The first went to my property manager.

The second to the local hospitality company handling short-term rentals for neighboring villas.

The third to my attorney.

By 4:45, everything was arranged.

At 5:02, Melissa walked into the kitchen wearing my robe.

“Where’s breakfast?”

I took a slow sip of coffee.

“Not here.”

Mom frowned. “What does that mean?”

Before I could answer, headlights swept across the windows.

A white shuttle van pulled into my driveway.

Another car stopped behind it.

Melissa looked outside.

“Who is that?”

I smiled.

“The people handling your new accommodations.”

Part 2:

Melissa stared at me as if I had spoken another language.

“Our what?”

The doorbell rang.

My property manager, Denise, stepped inside with a tablet. Behind her stood a representative from Seabreeze Suites, a family hotel twenty minutes inland.