By the beginning of July, the usual office buzz was dying down to the summer sluggishness. Schedules were lighter, meeting rooms were half-empty, people were counting the days until their holidays. For Richard, this summer was different. Monumentally so.
He had asked Chloe and Drew months earlier, "Anywhere in the world — where do you want to go for a proper holiday?"
He'd expected something in Europe.
Paris. Rome. Maybe Majorca.
But after two weeks of the two of them debating, googling, arguing, changing their minds, arguing again, Chloe finally declared over dinner one night:
"Egypt. We want to go to Egypt."
Drew nodded solemnly beside her, the way a brother did when he'd spent too long losing every debate and was just relieved someone had made a decision.
"Egypt," Richard repeated, surprised, but something inside him lit up at the idea. Mysterious. Warm. Vast. A place they'd never been. A place to make new memories.
So he booked it. All of it. Three full weeks.
And yet, in the quiet moments leading up to the trip, Richard found himself thinking back on all the other family holidays; the ones that should have been full of memories, but had somehow produced none.
Ski holidays in Austria where he never saw the children on the slopes because he spent every morning answering emails, every afternoon taking calls, every evening preparing for the next quarter's strategy review. He'd sit on the balcony of their hotel suite while Chloe and Drew took skiing lessons, hearing the muffled sound of children laughing somewhere far below, never knowing which of those voices belonged to his own.
Canoeing trips in Canada where he'd brought his laptop "just in case," fully intending not to open it; and then had spent hours working, exactly what he'd said he wouldn't. He remembered the lodge's wooden tables, the crackle of the fire, the soft hush of lake water outside… and Eleanor disappearing into the spa with a sigh about her back hurting, leaving the children to find their own entertainment. He remembered thinking at the time that the kids were "fine," that children were resilient, that they didn't need hovering.
What he didn't remember, because he'd never noticed, was how the four of them had drifted around one another like strangers sharing a hotel room.
Eleanor spent her days tanning by the pool, or in a steam room wrapped in towels. The children would attend holiday clubs, sometimes together, more often not. Richard working, always working, believing that being physically present was enough.
He had thought they were doing well. A privileged family on nice holidays, ticking boxes. But now, as he looked back, he realised a truth that was painful: they had travelled together, but they had never actually been together. Not really. Not in the ways that mattered.
This time, he promised himself, would be different. This time, he would show up.
The morning he left for Heathrow, he walked through the office feeling strangely light. Almost unrecognisable. Not because he wasn't needed, but because, finally, he wanted to step away. To take a proper family holiday.
Isabelle stood by her desk, assuring him she would use the time to train the new hire to cover her maternity leave.
"Make sure they understand they have large shoes to fill. I know I rely on you quite a lot, Isabelle."
"You'll be fine," Isabelle said, picking up a folder. "I'll make sure she follows my systems. And she'll have my number, she can ask me about anything, at any time. It's not half as scary as it may seem."
"I trust you, but she won't be contacting you. You'll have your hands full. Focus on the baby," Richard said with a smile.
Isabelle looked up at him, amused. "All set for your flight tonight?"
"More than set," he replied. "And I won't be checking emails. Or messages. Or anything. You're in charge."
She gave him a small, warm smile. "I'll keep everything running."
"I know." He meant it. She was more reliable than anyone he had ever worked with.
At four o'clock, he wished Isabelle a good few weeks and left the building with a feeling he hadn't felt in years: freedom,, excitement. The good kind.
Egypt hit them like a wave of heat and colour.
Cairo was alive; loud, unapologetic, overflowing with scents and sounds and movement. Their driver, Mahmoud, laughed as Chloe pressed her face to the car window and Drew filmed everything on his phone.
Their first day was spent standing before the pyramids, the sand hot beneath their feet, the air shimmering like a mirage. Drew stared up at the Great Pyramid, whispering "Whoah," under his breath, while Chloe read every historical plaque she could find and corrected their tour guide twice, which amused him more than offended him.
Richard got Mahmoud to take photos of them; real photos, not the kind taken out of duty. Photos where their smiles weren't posed. Photos where he was in them too, because this time he wasn't the one behind the camera missing the moment.
They rode camels. Drew nearly fell off twice, causing Chloe to laugh so hard she cried. They drove desert buggies, racing over dunes with the sun dropping low as the sky turned gold.
At night, they wandered through crowded markets where vendors shouted friendly greetings, trying to sell spices and scarves and little plastic pyramids. Joyful music floated from every corner. The streets glowed. And Richard watched his kids soak it all in; not bored, not distant, not scrolling on their phones; alive, living every moment.
One evening, as Mahmoud drove them back to their hotel, he said to Richard in broken English, "You lucky man."
"Why?" Richard asked, surprised. He was sitting in the front passenger seat, that was the norm in Egypt.
"You have two children. You good dad. They happy."
Richard looked at his children in the back seat, watching the city streak by in flashes of colour and neon. "Yes, I'm very lucky," he admitted with a smile. "Thank you."
After seven days in Cairo, they flew to a resort in Sharm El Sheikh, a place so luxurious it seemed designed for royalty. Private pools. Silk cushions. Restaurants overlooking the Red Sea. Seven stars, Chloe had told him, amazed at all the facilities.
They spent several days by the pool, the heat sinking into their skin. Drew practised diving. Chloe spent hours reading political theory in the shade, happy as long as someone brought her iced mint tea.
Richard alternated between swimming, reading, and simply watching them. They laughed, teased each other, relaxed, were just themselves without pressure.
Every evening they chose a new restaurant: Lebanese, Indian, traditional Egyptian. They shared plates, arguing over who got the last of the grilled prawns and garlic bread.
One night, Drew said quietly, "Dad… this is the best holiday I've ever had."
Chloe leaned her head on her father's shoulder. "Same."
Richard swallowed hard and put his arms around them both. "It's the best one I've ever had too."
And it was.
Not because of where they were.
But because they were together. Really together.
No tension. No Eleanor. No pretending. No distractions.
For three weeks, they were just a father and his children, building the kind of memories they should have had all along.
On their final night, they stood on the beach as the sun dipped into the water, turning the horizon a soft, impossible pink.
Drew skipped stones badly. Chloe collected shells with the seriousness of an archaeologist. Richard stood between them, hands in his pockets, breathing in warm salt air.
This wasn't a second chance, he realised.
It was a first chance, the first real chance he'd ever been present enough to take.
And as they walked back up the beach together, laughing about something Drew had said, their silhouettes catching the last light of the day, Richard felt something quietly, deeply certain:
Whatever he'd lost to get here…
This, this right here, was worth far more.