My Final Flight: Too Late for Him to Come

"Rhys, Wren still hasn't texted you back?"

The heater hummed inside the car. Daphne Langston sat in the passenger seat while Rhys Callahan, my husband, kept his eyes on the traffic light ahead.

"Not yet. She's giving me the silent treatment."

I sat in the back seat, watching them both in silence.

I wasn't giving him the silent treatment. I was dead. My body was still somewhere in the wreckage, still falling. But somehow, my soul had drifted back to Rhys' car.

He picked up his phone and recorded a voice message. "Wren, I'm already at the terminal. Which exit are you at?"

The message went through, but minutes ticked by with no reply.

The wind whipped hard outside the terminal, and Daphne sneezed. "You don't think something happened to her, do you?"

Rhys let out a dry laugh. "Like what? She's just mad I didn't come get her, so she's pulling a disappearing act."

He picked up his phone and sent another. "Wren, there's a limit to how long you can sulk. Daphne and I are both out here waiting."

It went unanswered.

Rhys shoved his phone into his pocket, his jaw tight. "Forget it. It's too windy. Let me take you home first. She'll come back on her own once she's done with her little tantrum."

He had no idea I was right there in the back seat, staring at the side of his face. He couldn't have looked more indifferent.

Daphne's favorite music played through the speakers for the entire half-hour drive to her apartment. Rhys unbuckled his seatbelt, got out, and grabbed her luggage while Daphne pulled her coat tighter around herself.

"Thanks for picking me up tonight. You should head back and go get Wren."

Rhys lifted her suitcase out. "She doesn't need picking up. She's a grown woman with two working legs. She can get herself a cab."

I stood right next to them, watching the whole thing play out. In five years of marriage and 86 flights, he never came for me once.

Every time I waited alone in the freezing cold, standing in some endless taxi line, he was across town in the middle of the night being everything Daphne could ever need.

He wheeled the suitcase through the lobby door. "Go on up."

Daphne stepped forward and hugged him. "Thank you, Rhys. For as long as I can remember, you've always been there when I needed you most."

He patted her back gently. "Get some sleep."

Daphne turned and stepped into the elevator.

Rhys stood outside and lit a cigarette. The ember pulsed in the dark. He pulled up our chat window one more time, but there was still nothing.

Whatever patience he had left finally ran out. He typed out two messages.

"Wren, if you insist on pulling this crap, don't ever expect me to come pick you up again."

"Throw your fit and take a cab home."

He hit send, locked the screen, and stubbed the cigarette out on the edge of a trash can before getting back in the car. I sat in the passenger seat, watching him start the engine.

He would never have to go get me again anyway.

I was never coming back.