Chapter 39 #2
Saturday brought individual consultation sessions that Cara had arranged for women who wanted private time to process breakthrough moments.
I spent the morning in one-on-one conversations with participants who needed specific advice about legal proceedings, financial planning, or simply permission to trust their own instincts about what wasn't working in their lives.
"I've been married for twenty-six years," said Sue, a teacher from Connecticut whose story reminded me uncomfortably of my own. "But I feel like I've been dying by degrees. Your retreat made me realize I'm not crazy for wanting more than just surviving my own life."
"You're not crazy," I assured her. "You're recognizing the difference between being married and being happy. They're not the same thing."
The afternoon workshops continued building practical skills.
Cara led sessions on setting boundaries with family members who'd become accustomed to unlimited access to your time and energy.
Robin facilitated discussions about rebuilding professional identity after years of domestic focus.
Amy taught advanced balloon techniques that served as metaphors for approaching problems with creativity instead of just endurance.
The celebration Saturday night felt like something sacred.
Women sharing breakthroughs they'd experienced during their first weekend of choosing themselves over everyone else's comfort.
Stories about calling divorce lawyers, researching apartment rentals, and enrolling in classes they'd abandoned years ago for domestic obligations.
I was refilling wine glasses when I saw Emilio's car pulling into the parking area. He'd driven up from his Manhattan meeting to join our evening celebration, though I'd warned him he'd be one of the few men present at an event designed for women in transition.
"I brought reinforcements," he said when I met him at the entrance, gesturing toward the trunk of his car that contained enough Italian pastries to feed everyone twice. "I thought your participants might enjoy dessert that didn't come from the retreat center kitchen."
I watched him arrange cannoli and tiramisu on serving platters with the same attention to detail he brought to hotel management, his presence somehow making the evening feel more complete without overwhelming the women's space we'd created.
"Everyone," I said, gathering attention from the groups scattered around the lodge's main room. "I'd like you to meet Emilio Arellano, my business partner and the person who connected us with Josh to make this retreat possible."
"Business partner," Robin said later, appearing at my elbow with a knowing smile. "Is what we're calling it now?"
Amy joined us, studying Emilio with the same old attention she brought to evaluating people whose intentions toward her friends required assessment. It was not her first time seeing him though.
"He's exactly what I wanted for you," she said finally, her approval clear. "Someone who treats you like an equal instead of a project requiring management."
I watched Emilio move through conversations with retreat participants, listening to their stories with interest rather than polite attention.
He asked thoughtful questions about their business development plans, offered practical advice about financial independence, and somehow managed to be supportive without being patronizing.
Cara appeared beside me, as she surveyed the evening's success.
"This exceeded my expectations," she said, making notes about participant feedback that would inform future programming. "The weekend format creates enough intensity for breakthrough moments without overwhelming people who've been carrying trauma for years."
"What's next after this?" I asked, thinking about the waiting list of women who'd requested spots in future retreat sessions.
"We expand," she said simply. "Maybe quarterly weekend sessions, or satellite programming in other locations by spring. Lauren, you've tapped into something women desperately need."
Around eleven o'clock, as retreat participants began heading to their accommodations, Emilio found me on the lodge's front porch where I was helping Cara collect wine glasses and serving platters.
"I should head back to the city," he said, checking his watch with the regret of someone who'd enjoyed the evening but had early Sunday obligations. "Flight to Florence at noon tomorrow."
"Of course," I said, walking with him toward the parking area where we could say goodbye without an audience. "Thank you for coming. It meant everything to have you here for this."
"Your participants are remarkable," he said, stopping beside his car. "And what you and Cara have built together is going to change lives."
He kissed my cheek with appropriate restraint for a setting where retreat participants might be watching from their windows, though his hand lingered on my waist longer than strictly necessary.
"I'll call you when I land in Florence," he said.
"Safe travels."
I watched his taillights disappear down the mountain road, feeling the loss of his presence but also satisfaction that we'd handled this correctly. The retreat belonged to the women who'd come here seeking transformation, and Emilio had understood that without needing explanation.
Sunday morning brought closing sessions designed to help participants transition from retreat support back to their regular lives. Cara facilitated goal-setting workshops while I provided individual consultations for women who needed specific resources or encouragement.
"This weekend changed my life," said Kristen from California, gathering her materials ready to go home and start implementing whatever decisions she'd made. "I feel like myself again for the first time in years."
The departure process was emotional but hopeful. Women exchanging contact information, making plans for continued support, and promising to check in on each other's progress. I watched them load their cars with satisfaction that felt earned rather than just lucky.
Josh found me on the lodge porch after the last participant had driven away, his expression carrying the business assessment that had made his retreat center successful.
"Cara wants to discuss expansion immediately," he said, settling into one of the rocking chairs with a cup of coffee during the morning's activities. "Waiting lists, additional programming, maybe partnership opportunities with other wellness centers."
"What about you?" I asked. "This is your property, your primary business. Are you comfortable with the direction we're heading?"
Josh was quiet for a moment, looking out at the mountains that had provided a backdrop for three days of women's transformation.
"I've been in hospitality for twenty years," he said finally. "I've hosted corporate retreats, executive training, and luxury vacations for people who already had everything money could buy. But I've never seen work that mattered like what happened here this weekend."
By late afternoon, we'd loaded our cars and prepared to return to regular life. Cara hugged me goodbye with fierce affection.
"Thank you for trusting me with your vision," she said. "And for having the courage to create what you wished had existed when you needed it."
The drive back to the Hamptons took me through New England countryside that looked like someone had designed it to remind people that beauty existed in the world if you knew where to look for it.
I thought about the weekend's success, the book deals waiting for my response, and whether my platform was becoming something larger than I'd ever imagined possible.
On Monday morning I received a phone call that made everything feel aligned. Tiffany Ortiz from Romford Press, calling to discuss details of the book deal offer.
"Ms. Holmes? This is Tiffany Ortiz from Romford Press. We've been following your advocacy work and the success of your retreat programming. We'd like to offer you a book deal for your story. Are you interested in helping more women find their way to freedom?"