But there’s nothing.
Of coursethere’s nothing.
And yet, I keep expecting to hear my name.
To turn and see him striding down the aisle.
To find myself in some random romcom, movie magic crashing into my life and sweeping me away to happily-ever-after.
Spoiler alert: it doesn’t happen.
The door closes with a resoundingthunk.
The engines hum.
The plane begins to move.
And I sit there with my hand tight around the glass of untouched champagne, and understand, finally, that he’s not coming.
The tears I cry are silent.
But they’re not invisible.
Tiff passes me a tissue, holds my hand for a long, long time.
And eventually…
I say a quiet goodbye to the family I dreamed of.
Forty
Rhodes
Three weeks.
That’s how long I let myself sit in the wreckage I created before Chloe finally says enough.
Not in so many words.
She’s four.
But she gets us there anyway.
We’re home on a rare day off for both of us, still in pajamas at noon because my schedule has been brutal of late and because some days…living looks like eating takeout and watching cartoons on the couch in our pajamas.
She’s coloring and I don’t miss that it closely resembles one of Finn’s blankets—the squares all colorful chaos and love pieced together.
I’m pretending to review some video the coaching staff sent over.
But neither of us is fooling anyone.
“I miss Finn,” Chloe says as the show’s outro fades away.
The words slice me off at the knees and I find…I don’t have the strength to lie.
“Me too,” I admit.
Her head flies up, eyes going wide, and perhaps she’s surprised that I finally said that out loud.
