I Quit Chasing His Flight Path

Brandon didn't come home that night. He walked in at noon the next day, smelling faintly of woody perfume.

It was the scent Wilma always wore.

He tossed his car keys onto the entryway table and looked at me coldly. "Are you done throwing your tantrum from last night?"

I was taping a cardboard box shut, so I didn't look up.

"Are you pretending to be deaf now?" He walked over and kicked the box. "What's with all this junk you're packing up?"

"Just sorting through things I don't use anymore," I finally replied.

Brandon sneered. "Melissa, this whole playing-hard-to-get act of yours is pretty pathetic. Do you really think giving me a few days of the cold shoulder will make me come to sweet-talk you?"

I stood up straight and dusted off my hands. "I didn't ask you to sweet-talk me."

"Then what's with this attitude? Wilma cried for nearly half an hour last night because of what you said. You owe her an apology."

"I won't apologize."

"You're impossible!" He yanked at his hair in frustration and walked over to sit on the couch. "I don't have time to drag this out with you.

"On Wednesday, I'm flying to Reykiford. If you admit you were wrong, I'll give you the family standby ticket I originally saved for Wilma and take you to see the northern lights."

I stood frozen in place. The northern lights?

Six years ago, I was diagnosed with a thyroid nodule. It was benign, but I was terrified at the time.

Brandon had been beside the hospital bed, holding my hand. He said, "Once you're better, I'll take you to see the northern lights. You'll fly on my route, and we'll watch the most beautiful night sky together."

He had dragged this promise out for six years. And now, he was using that six-year-old promise as a bone to throw me so I'd back down.

What was more, the ticket was originally meant for Wilma.

"Is that not good enough for you?" He frowned when I stayed silent. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to get a standby ticket on this route? Wilma begged me for a long time before I agreed. It's only because of our eighth anniversary that I changed my mind and decided to give it to you."

I looked at him. My voice was so soft that I could barely hear it myself as I said, "Give the ticket to Wilma."

"What did you say?"

"I said, give the ticket to her. I don't need it."

With a dark and frightening expression, Brandon shot up from the couch. "Melissa, don't test my patience! I'm giving you a chance. You keep digging your own grave, so don't come crying to me begging later."

"I won't beg you."

Brandon furiously slammed a glass cup on the coffee table. Glass shards splashed onto my calf and cut a line of red.

He didn't even spare me a glance. He simply turned around, slammed the door, and left.

I looked down at the beads of blood on my calf, then pulled a tissue and wiped them away.

It didn't hurt. It really no longer hurt me.

…

Time quickly passed until Wednesday.

It was our eighth anniversary, as well as the day I would leave this city.

I dragged my one and only suitcase and took a taxi to the airport.

My flight to Dalco was at three in the afternoon. After checking in, I sat in the waiting area and watched planes take off and land outside the window.

The northern lights route was scheduled to depart at 2:00 pm. Brandon should already be in his seat by now, getting ready for pushback.

I opened my phone. I wanted to check his flight status one last time, as a way to close the book on these past eight years.

The crew info on the flight tracker popped up.

However, Brandon's name wasn't on the captain's column. Instead, it was a stranger's name.

I paused for a moment. Had he gotten sick and switched shifts at the last minute?

Just then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw something at the entrance to the first-class lounge nearby.

A man in a trench coat was pushing a pink suitcase inside, and beside him walked a woman in a matching coat. The woman clung to the man's arm affectionately, leaning her head against his shoulder.

It was Brandon and Wilma.

I stood where I was and watched them walk into the lounge. Not far away, I could hear two ground crew members chatting to each other.

"Was that Mr. Smith who just went in? Isn't he supposed to fly to Reykiford today?"

"He suddenly took an annual leave. I heard it was to go with Ms. Chapman to Reykiford.

"Ms. Chapman was showing off in the group chat all day yesterday. She said Mr. Smith gave up flying the northern lights route just for her. He even bought passenger tickets so he could go with her on a long vacation."

"How romantic! Mr. Smith treats Ms. Chapman really well!"

Suddenly, I felt a little amused.

It turned out that—by giving me the ticket meant for Wilma—Brandon was just trying to use that fake story to make me feel grateful to him.

In reality, he was going to give up his flight duties for her and had even personally planned a northern lights trip for just the two of them.

Soon, the boarding announcement for my flight came over the speakers.

I looked in the direction of the first-class lounge. Then I turned around and handed my boarding pass to the gate agent.

Once everyone boarded, the cabin door closed. The plane taxied and accelerated before its wheels eventually came up.

The plane from the airline Brandon worked for carried me high in the sky, through the clouds.

And Brandon, who had taken annual leave for his "little bear", was sitting in first class on another plane right now.

I looked out the window at the sea of clouds.

After eight years, I was finally free.