Chapter 7 - The Royal Treatment
Our two weeks in Europe were nothing short of magical.
In London, we stayed at the iconic Claridge’s Hotel in Mayfair. The hotel staff treated seven-year-old Emma like an actual princess. They arranged a private children’s high tea where she got to decorate her own scones, sent a toy horse to our suite, and arranged a private black-cab tour of Buckingham Palace and the Tower of London.
When we took the Eurostar train through the Channel Tunnel to Paris, Emma spent the entire ride staring out the window at the French countryside.
In Paris, we stayed at a boutique hotel overlooking the Seine River. The highlight of the trip came on day ten, when we arrived at Disneyland Paris.
Unlike the chaotic, overcrowded experience my parents were currently enduring in Florida, our time at Disneyland Paris was pure magic. I had hired a private VIP tour guide for two full days.
We walked past every single line. Emma met Sleeping Beauty, Cinderella, and Elsa without waiting a single minute. We ate lunch inside the Cinderella Castle restaurant, sitting at a window table overlooking the royal courtyard.
During lunch, Emma pulled a small glass jar out of her backpack. It was her old "DISNEY" jar from her bedroom dresser—the one where she had saved her birthday money and quarters.
"Mommy?" she asked, setting the jar on the white tablecloth.
"Yes, baby?"
"Can we give this money to the waiter?"
I smiled gently. "Why, sweetie?"
"Because I don't need to save up for Disney anymore," she said, looking up at me with a pure, radiant smile. "You brought me here all by yourself."
I had to wipe away a stray tear before it fell into my soup. I reached across the table, took her small hand, and squeezed it.
"I will always bring you wherever you want to go, Emma. You are my top priority. Always."
That night, as the fireworks exploded over the lit-up pink castle in Paris, I took a photo of Emma standing on a stone ledge, wearing her velvet princess cape, laughing with pure, unadulterated joy against the glowing night sky.
I posted the photo to my Instagram page with a simple caption:
May you like
Some miscounts turn out to be the greatest blessings. Royalty only.
Within an hour, the post had hundreds of likes. And for the first time, I didn't care whether my mother or sister saw it or not. We had moved far beyond their small, bitter world.
