Then a message buzzed through from my cousin Elise.
A photo of the ship’s dining hall. Table settings. 19 chairs. One of them had a name card.
Isaac.
A stranger was sitting there smiling at the camera with a glass of wine in hand.
Below it, “Guess the black sheep got the message.”
That was it.
That was the moment something inside me hardened.
I hadn’t been forgotten. I’d been erased.
They had planned to use me. Book everything under my account. Take the seat with my name on it. Let someone else enjoy the meal I’d unknowingly paid for.
And they had the audacity to mock me for not being there.
I stood up from my desk, walked to the window, watched the traffic pass in the morning light.
Then I opened the travel app.
I knew how it worked.
The group reservation was in my name. That meant I had the authority. I could cancel the entire booking as long as they hadn’t officially sailed.
And they hadn’t.
The app gave a final warning.
“Are you sure you want to cancel this reservation? This action is irreversible. No refunds guaranteed.”
I tapped yes.
5 seconds later, it was done.
I sat in silence. Not angry, not satisfied, just still.
An hour passed.
Then the calls began.
And then a message from Elise again.
“What did you do?”
I didn’t answer.
Then came a string of voicemails, one more frantic than the last.
“Isaac, please. We’re still at port. We can’t get on without the booking. They won’t let us back on. They’re saying the reservation’s void.”
“Isaac, this isn’t funny. People flew in for this. You’re being dramatic. Grow up and fix this. Now, we’re begging you. Just talk to us.”
But I didn’t.
I turned off my phone, let the silence wrap around me like a blanket.
And for the first time in years, I didn’t feel like the black sheep.
I felt like the wolf.
The next morning, I woke up before sunrise.