This was not my anniversary surprise. He definitely didn’t know that I was on board.
My husband was not speaking to his wife because why would we hide anything?
I don’t know what expression I had on my face, but the woman beside me glanced over with a smile that faded immediately when she saw me.
“You okay?” she whispered.
I nodded because I couldn’t do anything else.
The flight attendant began the safety demonstration. Passengers settled, the plane turned toward the runway, and life continued with astonishing cruelty.
I sat there staring straight ahead, trying to breathe without making a sound.
Maybe, I told myself wildly, stupidly, maybe this wasn’t what it sounded like.
Maybe 15C belonged to his friend or a relative I was yet to meet.
Maybe the “love” wasn’t romantic.
Maybe I was about to humiliate myself with suspicion when he only meant some platonic love.
But my body already knew.
It had gone cold in that unmistakable way it does when the truth arrives before your mind is willing to receive it.
We took off, my heart thumping in my chest.
The climb pressed me back into my seat, and I gripped the armrests until my fingers hurt.
When the seatbelt sign finally dinged off, I sat motionless for another minute, then unbuckled.
I needed to see 15C. I wanted to simply have a glimpse of who was in that seat, or my mind would spiral with ideas until we landed.
I told myself I was going to the restroom.
That was normal, harmless, and nobody would look at me twice.
My legs felt weak as I stood up.
I kept my eyes down until I was next to row 15, which was just behind me but on the other side.
I then turned slightly, as casually as I could.
And almost stumbled.
The woman in 15C was no longer a mystery.
She looked about thirty, maybe younger. Her dark blonde hair fell over one shoulder. She had one hand wrapped around a plastic cup of juice.
The other hand was resting on an unmistakable pregnancy bump.
