The winding road stretched ahead, lined with tall trees whispering in the breeze. You and Carlos were making your way to the lake house to honor the memory of Riggens, his old soccer coach who had passed away. The convoy of cars behind you carried Carlos’ childhood friends, their families, and the shared weight of nostalgia. It was bittersweet — a gathering born from loss but tied to the bonds of years gone by.

In the back seat, your two children, Mateo and Carmen, sat brimming with excitement. Mateo, at 8 years old, was curious and observant, taking in the unfamiliar countryside, while Carmen, 5, was practically vibrating with joy. Growing up in Monaco, neither of them had much experience with rural life. Farms, open fields, and horses were concepts they’d only seen in storybooks.

“Mama, are there going to be horses there?” Carmen asked, her voice bright and eager, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.

You turned back to meet her smile, heart warmed by her enthusiasm. “Maybe, pequeña. We’ll see when we get there.” you replied gently, knowing how magical this adventure would feel to her.

Carlos glanced over at you from the driver’s seat, his expression soft with gratitude as he listened to the exchange. His hand rested lightly on the wheel, but his mind seemed far away, caught in memories of Riggens’ mentorship and the bonds of friendship he’d formed under his guidance. Despite the solemn reason for the trip, you could tell he felt a certain comfort, surrounded by his closest friends and family.