Chapter 14 - The Real Vacation
Four weeks later, the warm morning sun rose over the sparkling blue waters of San Diego Bay.
A gentle breeze rustled the palm trees along the marina as Andre pulled his truck into the parking lot of a bright, modern two-story townhouse overlooking the water. The FOR SALE sign on the lawn had a large red SOLD banner plastered across the front.
"Well," Andre said, killing the engine and turning around to look at the backseat. "What do you guys think?"
Maya and Devin pressed their faces against the glass.
"Are you serious, Dad?" Devin asked, his eyes wide. "We’re living right on the water?"
"Ten minutes from your new high school, Devin. And five minutes from Maya’s new arts academy," Andre said, tossing a set of brass keys over his shoulder. Devin caught them out of midair with a grin.
Maya unbuckled her seatbelt and scrambled out of the truck, taking a deep breath of the salty Pacific air. The dark circles under her eyes were completely gone, replaced by a radiant, healthy glow.
"It doesn't smell like drama," Maya joked, looking back at Andre with a bright, wide smile.
"That's because drama doesn't have a key to the front door," Andre laughed, stepping out and stretching his back.
The last month had been a whirlwind of legal filings, real estate closings, and new beginnings. The Sycamore Lane house had sold over asking price in four days, allowing Andre to pay off every lingering business debt and purchase the San Diego property outright with zero mortgage. Tanya had accepted a plea agreement—four years in federal custody, five years of supervised probation, and full restitution to Maya’s educational trust.
Devin’s legal guardianship had been formally transferred to Andre with the full support of the family court and Devin's biological father, who had signed the waiver without contest.
"Hey, Maya!" Devin called out from the back of the truck, hauling out two heavy duffel bags. "Catch!"
Maya caught the smaller bag with ease, laughing as she sprinted up the stone steps toward the front door. "I get the room with the ocean view!"
"Not if I tag the door first!" Devin yelled, taking off after her.
Andre leaned against the tailgate of his truck, crossing his arms over his chest. He watched his two kids laughing, chasing each other up the stairs like they were ten years younger, free from the toxic shadow that had hung over them for far too long.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out three glossy tickets that had arrived in the mail yesterday morning.
Not airline vouchers.
May you like
Three annual season passes to the San Diego Surf & Sailing Club, printed in bold, permanent ink: ANDRE CARTER. DEVIN CARTER. MAYA CARTER.
Andre smiled, tucked the passes securely inside his leather wallet, and grabbed the last two suitcases from the truck bed.
