Ten days through Utah and Colorado.
No children.
No work.
No responsibilities.
Just Daniel and me.
I had reserved every hotel.
Planned every stop.
Saved for almost a year.
For decades, Daniel had called me “the organized one.”
It sounded flattering, but what it really meant was that I handled everything he preferred not to think about.
His mother’s appointments.
Melissa’s emergencies.
Taxes.
Insurance.
Our rental properties.
His consulting invoices.
Even retirement accounts he barely remembered we had.
And Melissa had long treated me like free labor.
If her babysitter
