I scrolled to a number labeled Elite Travel Services, the high-end agency I’d used for complicated conferences and once-in-a-lifetime trips during my working years.
The line rang twice before a calm, professional voice answered.
“Elite Travel Services, this is Amanda speaking. How may I help you?”
“This is Dr. Margaret Hayes,” I said. “I have a reservation—confirmation number HW2847. I need to make an immediate cancellation.”
I heard typing.
“One moment, Dr. Hayes…” Another pause. “All right, I see your reservation here. This is a comprehensive booking—flights, hotel, activities—for five passengers.” She hesitated. “I should inform you this is a non-refundable package. If you cancel now, you’ll lose the entire amount of forty-seven thousand dollars. Are you sure you want to proceed?”
“I’m aware,” I said. “Cancel everything. All five passengers. All rooms. All activities. Everything.”
“But ma’am, you’ll lose—”
“Cancel it,” I repeated. “Now. I’ll hold while you process it.”
There was another pause. More typing.
“Dr. Hayes, are you certain? Once I process this, it cannot be undone.”
I watched a Hawaiian Airlines plane taxi toward the runway.
“I’m absolutely certain,” I said. “Cancel it all.”
More typing. A few clicks.
“All right. Processing cancellation now,” she said. “This will take approximately two minutes.”
Two minutes to erase six months of planning and forty-seven thousand dollars.
I stood by the window, watching the planes. I thought about how excited I’d been that morning, how I’d barely slept the night before, how I’d imagined Tyler’s face when he saw his first sea turtle.
I thought about how Jessica had told me I was too old and that the kids loved her mother more, and how my son had stood there and said it was “just one trip.”
“Dr. Hayes?” Amanda’s voice came back on the line. “Cancellation is complete. All reservations have been canceled—flights for all five passengers, hotel rooms, all booked activities. I’m so sorry about your trip.”
“Don’t be sorry,” I said. “This worked out perfectly. Thank you for your help.”
I hung up.
Second call.
“Chen and Associates, how may I direct your call?” a receptionist answered.
“Patricia Chen, please,” I said. “This is Dr. Margaret Hayes.”
“One moment, Dr. Hayes.”
I’d known Patricia for twenty years. She’d helped me when I sold my medical practice. We’d met in a conference room high above the Chicago River, floor‑to‑ceiling windows framing the bridges and the El trains, and I’d liked her immediately—sharp, methodical, and unafraid to tell me the truth.
“Margaret?” Patricia’s voice came on the line, warm and concerned. “What’s wrong?”
“I need you to draft new estate documents today,” I said. “This afternoon, if possible.”
“What kind of documents?” she asked.
“A new will,” I said. “Removing Kevin as beneficiary. Completely. Everything goes to charity. American Heart Association, medical scholarship funds, women’s shelters. I want him explicitly disinherited.”
There was a beat of silence.
“Margaret… what happened?” she asked quietly.
“I’ll explain when I see you,” I said. “Can you have the documents ready by this afternoon?”
“Of course,” she said. “I’ll clear my schedule. Margaret, are you sure? Once you sign—”
“I’m sure,” I said. “I also need you to prepare revocation of all powers of attorney. Kevin no longer has any authority over my affairs. And I need to dissolve the education trust I set up for Tyler and Emma.”
“The five-hundred-thousand-dollar trust,” she said.
“Yes,” I replied. “Dissolve it. Return the funds to my general estate.”
“All right,” Patricia said slowly. “I can do that. I’ll have everything ready by two p.m.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I’ll see you then.”
I hung up.
