My daughter forgot her passport. I went to Turks & Caicos without her.

When my daughter forgot her passport in her apartment in New York City, I decided to go on our mother-daughter trip without her. I felt guilty.

I wasn't supposed to go alone.

My 21-year-old daughter and I had planned to travel to the Turks & Caicos together for a hotel's grand reopening. To heighten the anticipation, I had booked us into a different resort for the first two nights. The plan was to make a long weekend of it.

She flew from Los Angeles to New York, where she lives. I flew from Florida. We were supposed to meet at the gate.

She called from the security line at JFK. Her passport was in her apartment, 45 minutes away. She had grabbed her wallet and her phone but left the one document she couldn't replace at the gate.

I had a choice. Miss the flight and wait for her to retrieve it, or board without her.

I boarded.

The guilt hit somewhere over the Atlantic. I texted her photos of the ocean from 35,000 feet. She replied with a thumbs-up emoji. I couldn't tell if she was fine or furious.

She caught a later flight that evening. By the time I landed, she was already in the air. We met at the hotel bar at midnight, both exhausted, both laughing.

The trip was better than it would have been if we had arrived together. We had separate stories to tell. She had navigated JFK alone, found her way to the resort, ordered a drink without me. I had sat on the beach by myself for four hours, reading a book I never get to finish at home.

We spent the next three days doing exactly what we had planned. Snorkeling. Eating conch fritters. Arguing about which sunscreen smelled worse.

The passport mistake became a running joke. Every time we passed through hotel security, she patted her bag and said, "Got it this time."

I learned something. The trip was never about the two of us being in the same place at the same time. It was about knowing she could handle herself, and that I could let her.