“It’s one anniversary dinner. We can celebrate tomorrow.”
“No,” he said immediately. “It’s not the same. Twelve years is not just any date. We deserve to celebrate it on the exact day.”
That should have made me feel even more disappointed.
Instead, it made me even more excited for the plan I was about to unveil.
That night, while he slept soundly, I bought a plane ticket.
I was going to be on the same flight he was scheduled on.
I imagined his face when we landed.
Me stepping off in the red dress he loved when I tried it on the last time we went shopping.
He had said I looked stunning in it, and I had pretended not to like it.
However, the next day, while he was gone to work, I went back to get it because I knew he would love seeing me in it on our upcoming anniversary.
I imagined him laughing in surprise, maybe pulling me into one of those kisses that make people look away politely in public.
We would grab a hotel near the airport, order bad room service, and tell the story for years.
That morning, I curled my hair more carefully than I had in months.
I did my makeup twice because my hands were shaking with excitement.
When I slipped on the red dress, I stood in front of the mirror and actually blushed at myself, which at 38 felt ridiculous and wonderful.
I looked like a woman still in love with her husband. And I was.
At the gate, I nearly ruined everything.
Daniel was standing by the jet bridge in full uniform, talking with his first officer and laughing at something I couldn’t hear.
Even from 20 feet away, he had that calm, steady presence people trusted without thinking.
He looked handsome in uniform, his broad shoulders standing out and his clean-cut hair, making him look younger.
His wedding ring gleamed when he lifted a hand. He was the same man I had loved since I was 26.
My heart jumped like I was young again.
I ducked behind a pillar before he could spot me and actually laughed at myself. I felt ridiculous, giddy, and stupidly happy.
I boarded with the last group, slipped into seat 14C, pulled my hair forward, and kept my face down.
The plane filled around me with the ordinary noises of people settling in.
Overhead bins slamming, seat belts clicking, a baby fussing three rows ahead, and a businessman arguing softly into his phone until a flight attendant told him to switch it off.
Then the doors closed, and the plane pushed back.
A crackle came over the speaker.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain…”
I smiled like an idiot, waiting for the standard welcome. Weather in our destination city, expected flight time, and smooth conditions en route.
But then Daniel paused.
“Before we get going, I’d like to do something I’ve never done on a flight before,” he said. “There’s a very special someone on this plane tonight. Someone who means absolutely everything to me.”
My face went hot.
I thought he had seen my name on the passenger list and that the surprise was ruined.
At the same time, my heart stumbled at the thought of being spoken about like that in front of a whole plane.
I actually started to rise from my seat, half laughing already, waiting for him to say my name.
Then he said the next words, and I froze.
“To the beautiful woman in 15C,” he said, warm and intimate in a way I had never heard over an intercom before, “you already know how much I love you, but tonight I want the world to know too. I don’t want to hide how I feel anymore, and soon, we won’t have to.”
For one second, the cabin was silent, and then people clapped.
A few passengers even let out those delighted little noises strangers make when they think they are witnessing romance.
I was glad I never got on my feet, because I was certainly not the woman he was talking about.
My ears rang. The woman he mentioned was in seat 15C.
It was not me.
This was not my anniversary surprise. He definitely didn’t know that I was on board.
My husband was not speaking to his wife because why would we hide anything?
I don’t know what expression I had on my face, but the woman beside me glanced over with a smile that faded immediately when she saw me.
“You okay?” she whispered.
I nodded because I couldn’t do anything else.
The flight attendant began the safety demonstration. Passengers settled, the plane turned toward the runway, and life continued with astonishing cruelty.
I sat there staring straight ahead, trying to breathe without making a sound.
Maybe, I told myself wildly, stupidly, maybe this wasn’t what it sounded like.
Maybe 15C belonged to his friend or a relative I was yet to meet.
Maybe the “love” wasn’t romantic.
Maybe I was about to humiliate myself with suspicion when he only meant some platonic love.
But my body already knew.
It had gone cold in that unmistakable way it does when the truth arrives before your mind is willing to receive it.
We took off, my heart thumping in my chest.
The climb pressed me back into my seat, and I gripped the armrests until my fingers hurt.
When the seatbelt sign finally dinged off, I sat motionless for another minute, then unbuckled.
I needed to see 15C. I wanted to simply have a glimpse of who was in that seat, or my mind would spiral with ideas until we landed.
I told myself I was going to the restroom.
That was normal, harmless, and nobody would look at me twice.
My legs felt weak as I stood up.
I kept my eyes down until I was next to row 15, which was just behind me but on the other side.
I then turned slightly, as casually as I could.
And almost stumbled.
The woman in 15C was no longer a mystery.
She looked about thirty, maybe younger. Her dark blonde hair fell over one shoulder. She had one hand wrapped around a plastic cup of juice.
The other hand was resting on an unmistakable pregnancy bump.
For a second, I honestly thought the floor had tilted beneath me.
I moved on quickly, knowing that if I stayed in the same spot and kept staring, she would notice me.
Or maybe not, why should she?
If she was my husband’s mistress as I suspected, then maybe she knew who I was.
I made it to the bathroom and locked myself inside before I fell apart.
The crying came hard and ugly, the kind that steals your air and makes you press your fist to your mouth so nobody hears.
He had gotten another woman pregnant.
Unless there was some miraculous explanation that I had not yet come up with.
I stared at myself in the tiny mirror and barely recognized the woman looking back.
My lipstick was still perfect. My hair still curled. My red dress is still bright and beautiful.
I looked like someone dressed for a celebration who had wandered by mistake into a funeral.
I splashed water on my eyes and tried to think.
