I replayed that moment over and over—how I should’ve been home, how one different choice could’ve changed everything. Chesteria lost our baby while I was in the sky, checking gauges and cruising altitude.
How do you come back from that? How do you look the woman you love in the eyes and pretend you didn’t fail her in the worst way imaginable?
The truth was… I couldn’t.
Walking into our house after that felt like trying to breathe underwater. That shit physically hurt. I could see the hurt in her eyes, and every time she looked at me, I felt responsible for the way she was falling apart. I didn’t know how to be the man she needed when the very things that grounded me—my job, my control, my stability—were the same things she blamed. So I started staying in motels… not because I stopped loving her, but because being in that house made me nauseous. I couldn’t touch the crib, look at the nursery door, or sleep next to her when my presence only reminded both of us of what we lost. I thought maybe if I stepped back first, she could breathe, heal, and maybe even find someone who could show up in all the ways I didn’t.
One decision… one flight… that’s all it took to ruin everything we were building.And now this tiny black-and-white photo isthe only thing I have left to answer to, and I’ve been carrying that guilt for years.
I barely had a second to exhale before I heard heels clicking up behind me.
“Baaaabe, there you are!”
I closed my eyes.
Fuck!
Isis leaned into the cockpit doorway, grinning, looking entirely too refreshed for someone fresh off a three-day work trip.
Isis was one of those flight attendants everybody on the crew tried to flirt with—females included. She was fine, petite, brown-skinned, and hadassfor days, but somehow, she always ended up in my seat. Isis was cool and caring in aloud, always-talking, “need-someone-next-to-me” kinda way. She filled the silence like it was her job. We’d been messing around for almost a year—after flights, here and there… but nothing serious. My job was very demanding, and I barely had time to entertain anyone, so I kept her around since she wasalwaysavailable.
“I’m heading to pick up our matching sweaters when I leave here!” she squealed. “Oh, and should I pack lingerie or is this, like… chill? I can’t wait for our little winter getaway!”
The lingerie part didn’t sound bad—Isis had a bad ass body; I’d give her that. But matching sweaters? What thefuckwas she on?
I exhaled through my nose. “Isis… what did I tell you about all that?”
She blinked at me with those big lashes she always wore too heavy. “About… what?”
“All that extra relationship shit,” I clarified.
“I just thought… you know… maybe this could be a cute way for us to—” she wiggled her shoulders, “—show we’re getting serious… or at least take a lil’ Christmas couple pic for my Close Friends.”
I damn near choked. “Look, shawty. This ain’t that kind of trip; I already told you. We going there to chill and fuck… that’s it. Ain’t no matching anything. Ain’t no couple photos. Ain’t no ‘us.’ Stop dressing it up like it’s something it ain’t.”
Isis made a face somewhere between confused, offended, and trying not to cry. “Okay, well, I’m still gonna bring them… just in case you change your mind, or if it gets, like… really cold.”
How can a girl this fine be this damn ditzy?The pussy definitely is the only reason I’m still fuckin’ with her or even willing to bring her on this trip. The head ain’t bad either, and she stays pretty and peaceful… until she talks too damn much.
Isis twisted a curl around her finger. “So… am I staying at your house tonight?”
I stared at her ass the same way a nigga reacts when a non-girlfriend casually mentions a Birkin.
“Hell nah! Isis, when have youeverstayed at my crib?”
She looked up, genuinely thinking about it—way too hard.
“Exactly,” I added. “You don’t even know what side of town I live on.” I dragged my hands down my face, trying not to snap. “Look, I’ll see you tomorrow. I’ll pick you up around one.Be ready!” I stressed.
With Isis, one o’clock meant she’d start getting ready at twelve fifty-eight and somehow still take three damn hours. The girl was just overly bougie for no damn reason.
Isis grinned like I’d just asked her to prom. “Okay, babe!”
I watched her bounce down the jet bridge, bag swinging, curls bouncing, and cluelessness following her like she was shedding it.
“The name is Bryce!” I yelled after her. “Her ass gon’ fuck around and get left if she call me that shit one mo’ time,” I mumbled.
That trip was already stressing me, and I hadn’t even packed.
