On our final evening beside the ocean, Ethan leaned against my shoulder and said he was glad the original birthday trip never happened because this one felt like ours. His words stayed with me long after we returned home. I had once believed protecting a relationship meant adapting endlessly, staying pleasant, and absorbing whatever discomfort the moment required. What I understand now is that children should never have to compete for their place in a parent’s life, especially against adults who measure love by convenience and access to money. Ethan and Ava were never two available spots on an itinerary. They were the reason the trip existed, the reason the house mattered, and the responsibility beneath every other decision I made. Everyone else was welcome only as long as they remembered that.