Page 59 of Captiva Café

Merritt nodded. “Yes. I’m sure things would be different if I’d had a brother or sister.”

Maggie thought of her own children and how they leaned on each other in difficult times.

"So that's what I did," Merritt continued. "I built my life in a ten-mile radius around her needs. Became an elementary school music teacher because the hours were predictable and the summers were free. Made friends who understood that my availability was always conditional. And then I met Weston."

She paused, a mixture of emotions crossing her face at the mention of his name—regret, fondness, guilt.

"Weston was...stable. Reliable. A high school history teacher with a perfectly ordinary life. His parents lived nearby. He haddeep roots in the community. On our third date, he mentioned that he'd never lived more than twenty miles from where he was born, and he said it with such pride." Merritt shook her head, a sad smile playing at her lips. "I thought that was exactly what I needed—someone who wouldn't ask me to leave, who understood the concept of staying put no matter what."

"And your mother liked him," Maggie guessed.

"She adored him," Merritt confirmed. "He was so kind to her, always patient with her increasing limitations. She started referring to him as her son almost immediately after we began dating." She paused, her gaze drifting toward the ocean beyond the garden. "When he proposed after two years, it felt like the natural next step. The expected one."

A blue jay landed on the gazebo railing, bold and curious, before deciding the women weren't interesting enough to investigate further and flew off toward the denser trees.

"The wedding planning took over everything," Merritt continued. "My mother's condition had deteriorated significantly by then—she needed help with almost everything—but she threw herself into the details. Flowers, dresses, invitations. It became her project, her joy. How could I possibly object to any of it?"

Maggie studied Merritt's face, seeing the conflict that still lingered there. "But you did object, eventually."

Merritt nodded, her eyes filling with tears that she blinked away. "I kept having these...moments. Sitting at the kitchen table with her, going through photographs of centerpieces, and suddenly feeling like I couldn't breathe. Or lying awake beside Weston at night, listening to him sleep, and wondering if this quiet desperation was just...it. All there would ever be."

She took a shaky breath. "Three weeks before the wedding, Wes and I were meeting with the minister. He asked us to share what we loved about each other, what made our relationshipspecial. And Wes talked about how responsible I was, how selfless, how devoted to family. How I never complained, never put my own needs first."

"And you realized those weren't necessarily compliments," Maggie observed quietly.

"Exactly," Merritt whispered. "He was describing someone who had disappeared so completely into the needs of others that she had no self left. And the worst part was, he admired that about me. He wanted that version of me—the one who never asked for more, never dreamed beyond the boundaries we'd established."

She set her coffee down, her hands trembling slightly. "That night, I took out my guitar for the first time in months. I hadn't been playing much—no time, no energy. But that night, I played for hours. Songs I'd written years ago, new melodies that seemed to pour out of some hidden place inside me. And when the sun came up, I knew I couldn't go through with the wedding."

"That must have been incredibly difficult," Maggie said.

"It was the hardest conversation I've ever had," Merritt agreed. "Wes was...devastated. Confused. He kept saying he'd do anything, change anything, but he couldn't understand that it wasn't about him. It was about me—who I'd become, who I was afraid I'd remain if I didn't make a different choice."

"And your parents?" Maggie prompted gently.

Merritt's face crumpled slightly. "My father tried to understand. He's always been the quiet one, the peacekeeper. But my mother...she was heartbroken. Not just about the wedding being canceled, but about what it meant. That I might leave. That the future she'd envisioned for all of us was dissolving."

She brushed away a tear that had escaped despite her efforts. "The day after I broke things off with Wes, she had a significantrelapse. The doctors said it was unrelated, just the progression of the disease, but the timing..." She shook her head. "She was hospitalized for two weeks. And when she came home, she was noticeably weaker. She needed even more care than before."

"So you stayed," Maggie concluded.

"For another month." Merritt nodded. "Trying to make up for the disappointment, the disruption. But something had broken open in me that couldn't be closed again. I kept thinking about all the songs I hadn't written, the places I hadn't seen, the person I might have become if I'd chosen differently years ago."

She looked up at Maggie, her eyes clear despite the tears. "So one morning, I packed my car, told my father I needed some time, and drove south. I didn't have a plan beyond 'as far from Maine as possible.' I stopped when I reached the ocean again."

"And found your way to Captiva," Maggie said with a small smile.

"Because of your mother," Merritt admitted. "I'd been watching van life videos, thinking maybe that was the answer—a life with no fixed address, no expectations. And there was Grandma Sarah with her silver hair and her fearless spirit, talking about this magical inn on a little island where the pace of life was different. Where people found what they needed, even if it wasn't what they were looking for."

Maggie laughed softly. "My mother, the unlikely YouTube influencer. I suppose I should thank her for bringing you to us."

"Captiva has been...healing," Merritt said, looking out across the garden toward the Gulf beyond. "For the first time in years, I've been able to breathe. To think about what I actually want. To play music without feeling guilty about the time it takes." She turned back to Maggie. "But now I need to go home. I talked to my father. Her condition has deteriorated rapidly over the past few weeks. The doctors are saying a month, maybe less."

Maggie reached across the table and squeezed Merritt's hand. "I'm so sorry, dear."

"When I came to Captiva, I was filled with so much guilt. I had to admit that I chose me instead of my mother. What kind of daughter does that?”

“You were trying not to drown, Merritt. You escaped to save your life. There’s nothing to feel guilty about. As a mother, I can tell you that’s more important than anything. You can’t help your mother if you’re sick too.”

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