Page 80 of Captiva Café

Sarah laughed softly, shaking her head. "Oh, Mom. I came to Florida because I was worried about you. I wanted to make sure you were making the right decision by moving to Captiva. I was young, untethered, and convinced my widowed mother needed my guidance." Her eyes crinkled with self-deprecating humor. "I was going to stay for six months, help you get settled, then go back to my real life."

"But you stayed," Maggie said.

"I stayed," Sarah confirmed, a warm smile spreading across her face. "Because coming to Florida was the best decision I ever made—the best decision I didn't even know I needed to make. I never thought I wanted to get married or have children. My plan was to travel, build my career, maybe settle down in a one-bedroom apartment in Boston with a cat and a view of the Charles River."

She gestured toward the backyard where Trevor's and Noah's voices could still be heard. "And now look at me. Three kids, a mortgage, a husband who builds sandcastles in the backyard, and a job that lets me help people in tangible ways. I found my place in the world here."

"You don't regret it?" Maggie asked. "Following your mother to Florida instead of building your own life elsewhere?"

"That's the thing, Mom," Sarah replied, leaning forward. "I didn't follow you. I came because of you, but I stayed because of me. Because this island, this community, this life—it's where I belong. It's who I was meant to become."

Maggie felt tears threatening and blinked them back. "And Lauren?"

Sarah's expression sobered. "Lauren has always been different from me. Where I find my identity from within, she's always defined herself in relation to others—especially you. The perfect daughter of the perfect mother."

"I'm hardly perfect," Maggie protested.

"Of course you're not," Sarah agreed easily. "But in Lauren's mind, you've always been this...paragon of womanhood. Professional success, loving mother, resilient widow who found love again, innkeeper living her dream by the sea. It's a lot to measure yourself against, especially when you're as naturally competitive as Lauren."

Maggie considered this, remembering how Lauren had always been the child most likely to push herself to exhaustion,to demand perfection in everything from school projects to soccer games. That drive had served her well in real estate, but perhaps it had extracted a cost in other areas of her life.

"What do I do now?" Maggie asked. "How do I help her without making it worse?"

Sarah considered the question. "I think this is a good start—you went to her, you listened, you created space for honesty. But this isn't something that will be fixed in one conversation."

"She said Jeff feels like he married her but got both of us in the bargain," Maggie said, the words still painful to repeat. "That her emotional attachment to me is affecting their marriage."

"That makes sense from Jeff's perspective," Sarah acknowledged. "He's always been fiercely independent, and he probably expected Lauren to be the same. Finding out that she's still so emotionally tethered to her mother must be difficult for him."

Maggie sighed, setting her empty glass on the coffee table. "I told her we'd have dinner next weekend—her and Jeff with Paolo and me. A chance to talk more openly."

"That's a good next step," Sarah agreed. "But Mom? I think she might benefit from talking to someone professional about this. The kind of...identity enmeshment she's describing isn't something that family conversations alone can untangle."

"I thought the same thing," Maggie admitted. "But I wasn't sure how to suggest it without sounding like I was trying to pass the problem to someone else."

"Maybe frame it as something you'd be willing to do together?" Sarah suggested. "A few joint sessions to help establish healthier boundaries? Lauren responds well to feeling like she's not alone in facing challenges."

Maggie nodded, grateful for her younger daughter's insight. Sarah had always possessed a practical wisdom beyond heryears, even as a child. Where Lauren analyzed and worried, Sarah observed and adapted.

"You’re pretty smart, you know that?” Maggie said.

Sarah smiled. "I had a good teacher. A mother who showed me it was possible to rebuild your life after loss, to find joy in unexpected places." She reached over and squeezed Maggie's hand. "The same example that affected Lauren so deeply affected me too—just differently. That goes for Beth too. She’s living life on her terms. She learned that from you."

Little Maggie's cry came through the baby monitor on the coffee table. Sarah glanced at it, then back at her mother.

"Duty calls," she said. "Are you heading back to the inn?"

Maggie nodded, rising from the sofa. "Paolo will be wondering where I am. And I need to process everything before I talk to him about it."

Sarah walked her to the door, pausing on the front porch. "Mom? Don't beat yourself up about this. You made the best choices you could after Dad died. We all did. Lauren's struggle isn't your fault—it's just something you both need to work through together."

Maggie hugged her daughter tightly, grateful for her steady presence. "When you were little, I thought I was the one teaching you how to navigate life. Now I wonder if it wasn't the other way around all along."

Sarah laughed. "Let's call it a collaborative effort."

As Maggie drove back to Captiva with the late afternoon sun gilding the water on both sides, she felt emotionally wrung out but clearer than she had been that morning. The conversations with both her daughters had revealed complexities in their family relationships that she had never fully understood—patterns established years ago that continued to shape their interactions.

Lauren's struggle with her identity separate from her mother. Sarah's unexpected flourishing in a life she hadn't planned. And Maggie herself, now realizing that her choices after Daniel's death had rippled through her children's lives in ways she had never anticipated.

---