And I consider my own role in all of it. I cannot compel a grown man to claim his heritage or insist upon connection where it’sinconvenient. But I can remain available. In my profession, I’ve learned that patience often achieves what force cannot.
Connor may yet come to understand that image is not substance. That a life constructed solely for presentation is brittle. When that realization arrives—and it will—I intend to be someone he can call.
I look out toward the dark stretch of the lake behind Mary’s house.
Families are imperfect organisms. They strain. They fracture. They mend. Tonight was not what I had hoped for. But hope, like the tide, returns.
I turn back toward the house, toward the fading warmth inside.
Connor did not come. But the door remains open. Always.
3
SAGE
Airports arehonest in a way most places aren’t. No one lingers there without reason. You’re either leaving something behind or heading toward something you hope will be better.
I’ve got a paper cup of bad coffee and a breakup that still feels unreal. I can’t believe I flew overseas for the first time in my life only to get dumped. And it was planned too. Methodically.
I knew something was off. Thought it was proposal nerves.
I’m an idiot.
Connor had already booked himself a different room for the night. I found out when we got to the hotel and he smoothly checked in at the front desk. Said, “I’ll be needing the key to my other room now, thanks.”
This morning, he sent one text—Have a safe flight—and I haven’t answered. I don’t know what I’d say.Thank you for the curated implosion?
When boarding is called, I stand with everyone else and move forward on autopilot. I didn’t bother styling my hair thismorning. No strategic waves. No careful gloss. None of the stuff I got in the habit of, just so I’d be ready in case he decided he needed a picture. Today, it’s just a messy bun and yesterday’s eyeliner.
It feels strangely rebellious to look like myself. Pathetic, really.
My ticket is business class. Connor booked us in coach for the price, but I deserve a treat, so I upgraded yesterday.
“Sage Henley, checking in.”
The agent checks her screen. Smiles tightly. “Glad to have you on board, Ms. Henley. Unfortunately, your plane was overbooked. Your seat has been bumped?—”
“You have got to be kidding me. This is a joke, right?”
“I’m afraid not.”
My head drops immediately, my hair making a curtain between us. Yep. Coulda used that extra bobby pin. Now, my hair is half-up and half-down, so I dig out the last of the pins while I whine to the agent. “Ma’am, what can be done about this? I can’t stay here another minute. I was just dumped. I am having the worst morning of my life right now. Is there anything you can do for me?”
She winces. “I’m so sorry to hear that. I can provide you with vouchers for a hotel?—”
“A hotel? Why not get me onto another flight?”
“You didn’t hear? There’s a nasty late-season snowstorm that’s going to make landing impossible any later than this flight. This is the last plane to Boston for the next twenty-four hours.”
I take a breath. Then another. And another. I’m near hyperventilation when I squeak out, “Are you kidding? Please tell me this is some kind of prank.”
Her brows raise in sympathy. “I truly am so sorry.”
“If I stay here one more day, I might actually lose my mind.”
“If there was anything else I could do?—”
“Excuse me.” The voice is low and rich. I look behind me—and the world tilts slightly.
