But then something slips inside me. And suddenly I’m not pretending anymore but full on sobbing.
Between gasps for air, one thought pushes through.
I have to find my daughter.
Because without her…I have no one left.
TWENTY-FOUR
The young woman who escorts me down the stone path—after I pull myself together—walks at an unhurried pace, her posture relaxed, her hands clasped neatly behind her back.
The path curves away from the central courtyard where I saw the children earlier, the sound of the fountain fading behind us as we move deeper into the grounds.
The path narrows as pines close in overhead, their branches weaving a green ceiling that filters the sunlight.
Low stone walls and manicured hedges now shield the teenage residents’ area from view. We abandon the sunny lawns for something quieter.
Halfway down the path, the woman glances over her shoulder.
Suddenly she halts and turns to me. “I’m sorry, I completely forgot to introduce myself. I’m Elena.”
Her voice carries a bright, rehearsed quality, like someone who’s memorized their lines for a play. She can’t be more than twenty-three.
“Judy,” I reply, accepting her outstretched hand.
She resumes walking. “This side is for adult retreat guests,” she explains, gesturing ahead. “We recently piloted the program.It’s separate from the teen residences for safeguarding purposes. The board was very clear about that.”
The farther we go, the more peaceful it becomes. When we stop, it’s in front of a single-story lodge partially hidden by trees.
Inside, after navigating a hushed hallway, Elena unlocks a door. “Your room,” she announces. “I hope it meets your needs.”
I step into a meticulously designed space: honey-colored wood floors, natural stone features, furniture in muted earth tones. Potted plants occupy every corner. But unfortunately, the windows overlook trees, not the beach.
I hesitate, then gesture toward where I know the ocean must be. “I thought I might have a room with a view of the water.”
Elena gives me an apologetic smile. “I know. Most people would prefer that. But the waterfront cottages are reserved for legacy families and long-term retreat bookings. This was our only availability on short notice. I assure you, it’s fully equipped and very private.”
“It’s perfect.” At least I made it inside this place.
I venture deeper into the room, taking in my surroundings.
A massive bed dominates the eastern wall, framed by floating shelves holding rocks and books about nature. The sheets are pure white and uncreased. A desk sits beneath the window, and beside it is a chair upholstered in moody gray. There’s also an armchair by a small fireplace.
The space whispers quiet luxury at its best. It’s all natural materials in earthy tones that echo what I’ve seen throughout the camp. Polished wood, smooth stone, and lots of plants.
But I don’t see a coffee machine anywhere and that weighs on me a little. I need my daily fix of three cups.
“This is your itinerary for your three days with us.” Elena hands me a neatly folded booklet. “On there you will find all the guided reflections, wellness sessions, and other activities. Some are optional, but there are a few we consider essentialto the process. We emphasize autonomy here. Participation is encouraged but not enforced. There’s also a map of the grounds, and a list of amenities.”
My eyes dart over the schedule. Yoga at dawn. Meditation before breakfast. Journaling sessions and nature walks filling the daylight hours. A “Mindfulness” workshop. None of it matters, of course. I only came to see if my daughter is here and convince her to come back home.
I look up. “Are there opportunities to go into town? I was hoping to explore Saltspray Cove while I’m here.”
Elena’s smile remains fixed, but something flickers behind her eyes. “We recommend guests remain on campus during their stay. It helps maintain immersion and consistency,” she says, each word measured.
“What if there’s an emergency?”
“If someone does need to leave for any reason, we simply consider the retreat concluded at that point.”
