You see, Betsy is the type of woman who throws elegance around like glitter. Big house, bigger opinions. Every summer, she and her husband, Harold, host a two-week “grandkids only” vacation at their fancy estate in a town called White Springs. Imagine an entire resort minus the love.

When Timmy turned six, the golden invitation finally arrived. Betsy called me with that signature cold sweetness: “Alicia, I think Timmy’s finally ready to join the family summer retreat.”

The family tradition was legendary. The estate sprawled across 20 acres. Manicured gardens. Olympic-sized pool. Tennis courts. Even hired entertainers who came daily.

“It’s like a fairy tale,” my neighbor Jenny said when I told her about the invitation. “Your Timmy’s going to have the time of his life.”

My son had been watching his older cousins disappear to Grandma’s house every summer, coming back with stories that made Disneyland sound ordinary.

“Mom, is it really happening?” Timmy chirped, pressing his small nose against our kitchen window. His eyes sparkled with excitement. “Am I really old enough now?”