Phantasialand won almost by accident.

It was close. Everyone described it as “great for kids.”

I’d even hacked their broken website just to book the hotel.

Dani leaned into me as I pressed the submit button that night for our reservations.

“This will be good.”

~

We entered the park through the hotel instead of the front gate.

The path opened into “Africa”—mud walls, rope bridges, and a roller coaster screaming overhead.

I looked at my boys.

Corbin, warm and comfortable on Dani’s back, pointed at the train as it disappeared overhead. His expression shifted from curiosity to alarm.

We told ourselves to keep walking.

Some teenagers ducked into the entrance of a ride hidden inside a mud wall.

I checked the sign.

Too tall.

Another ride.

Too tall.

A third.

Absurdly too tall.

Dani looked back at me.

“Are you serious? Who is this for?”

We kept wandering.

China.

Mystery.

Mexico.

Another coaster.

Another height requirement.

Corbin started crying before we even reached the rides. Every coaster that thundered overhead sent him burying his face into Dani’s shoulder.

Avery, who’d been excited only minutes earlier, grew quieter with each one.

The rain picked up.

The cold settled in.

The park, sparse to begin with, emptied until it felt like we were walking through it alone.

Finally Dani stopped.

“Let’s just go back.”

We bought crêpes on the way out.

The sugar helped.

The roller coasters didn’t.

By the time we reached the hotel, both kids were still crying.

~

The ball pit sat exactly where we’d left it.

The boys ran toward it without hesitation.

Within seconds they were laughing again—climbing, disappearing, chasing each other through tunnels no taller than they were.

I just stood there holding my two untouched crêpes.