“Mom, what the hell is going on? The ring-camera app shows some guys taking the pets. Did you hire a service? Because we are NOT paying for that. You were supposed to watch them.

Call me back immediately. This is ridiculous. You’re ruining our first day of vacation.”

I didn’t feel guilt. I felt pity for the boy I’d raised. He was forty-one years old with the emotional intelligence of a toddler mid-tantrum in a grocery aisle.

As the taxi pulled up to the gleaming white hull of the cruise ship — a leviathan of luxury on the teal water — I opened my Facebook app. Ninety-four friends.

Mostly church acquaintances, extended family, and Chloe, who followed me only to monitor my whereabouts.

I asked the driver to take a photo of me in front of the ship. I looked radiant. The morning light caught the diamond on my finger, sparkling defiantly.