I nod.
The conversation feels over.
There’s nothing left to say.
“I’m leaving for the airport in twenty minutes,” he says, his voice still clipped and painfully professional. “I need to get ready now. So if you’ll excuse me…”
That’s my cue.
He’s throwing me out.
Wow.
He walks me to the door, and somehow he looks more like a stranger now than he did when I first woke up beside him.
His hand rests on the handle.
For a second, he hesitates.
Like he might say something else.
Something human.
Something kind.
He doesn’t.
“Take care of yourself,” he says instead.
Polite.
Distant.
Professional.
You too, I want to say.
You too, husband.
But I don’t.
I just nod.
He opens the door for me and I step out into the hallway.
The door closes behind me with a soft, decisive click.
And just like that—
My marriage is already over, less than twelve hours after it began.
7
JAKE
Trouble
The private terminal smells like jet fuel, leather, and regret.
