Ran Away From His Sky

Ethan Cole had been flying for ten years, working his way up from first officer to captain.

I'd been by his side for seven of those years, and on the ground for every single one.

That evening, I packed his flight bag the way I always did.

Antacids in the side pocket. Noise-canceling headphones fully charged. A spare tie rolled up and tucked beneath his uniform. The bag had been with him for years, and I knew every compartment better than he did.

When I unzipped the innermost pocket, my fingers brushed a small velvet box.

It wasn't his.

Inside was a custom solo wings pin, with an engraving on the back.

"For Lark's first solo."

Beneath the words was a date. Three days ago.

Under the pin sat a flight school tuition receipt. The payer was Ethan. The student was Skyler Hayes.

Below that was a printed photograph.

Skyler was in the left seat of a small training aircraft, her hand on the control yoke. Ethan sat on the right, his black-gloved hand resting over hers, his head tilted slightly toward her.

On the back was his handwriting.

"Lark, don't be afraid. The sky will catch you."

I stared at those words for a long time.

It wasn't that Ethan didn't know how to encourage someone learning to fly.

Seven years ago, I had been one step away from my first solo, too.

I'd already earned my student pilot certificate and finished my takeoff and landing practice. Even my instructor said the next time the weather was right, I could go up alone.

But Ethan kept talking me into stopping.

He said flying wasn't something both of us could do. Someone had to keep things running at home.

He said he was more talented and closer to securing an airline career.

He said once he was settled, I could fly as much as I wanted.

Every word was gentle, and every word sounded like it was for my sake.

Eventually, I canceled my lessons, closed my logbook, and started organizing my life around his flight schedule.

When he flew red-eyes, I'd prepare his breakfast the night before.

When he flew long-haul, I'd research time zones and plan his meals.

The day he made captain, everyone said I was lucky, sticking with a man through the hardest years until he earned his four stripes.

No one ever asked whether I had once sat in the left seat, too.

I put the wings pin, the receipt, and the photograph back exactly as I'd found them. I didn't even shift the angle of the velvet box.

As I zipped the bag shut, a faint pulling sensation flickered through my lower left abdomen. I'd been crouching too long.

My hand went to the spot instinctively.

There was no wound there, but my body still remembered that night.

I pulled my hand away and stood up.

The next morning at six, I ironed Ethan's uniform the way I always did.

Steam rose from the iron. I smoothed the collar of his white shirt flat, and the four gold stripes on his epaulettes caught the morning light.

Ethan came out of the bedroom, saw me, and frowned.

"Didn't sleep again last night?"

"Not well."

He walked to the dining table and took a sip of the water I'd poured for him.

"Those dark circles are getting worse. Stop making yourself look so exhausted all the time. People will see you and think I'm the one putting you through hell."

It sounded like concern. It also sounded like a warning.

I handed him the freshly ironed shirt.

"Do you have plans next Tuesday?"

He took it, glancing down to check the cuffs.

"Next Tuesday?"

"Yeah."

"There's a route evaluation at work, and I might have to do a debrief with a new hire. Why?"

"No reason. Just asking."

Next Tuesday was our seven-year anniversary.

It was also the day he'd held me outside that small airfield seven years ago and promised that once he made captain, he'd take me flying himself.

I'd laughed at him back then.

I told him I could fly on my own. I didn't need him to take me.

He said that was different. He wanted to show me his sky.

Now he had shut me out of the sky, then opened it for someone else.

Ethan changed into the shirt and picked up his flight bag.

At the door, he looked back at me.

"Don't just sit around the house all day. When you've got nothing to do, you only end up overthinking."

"Okay."

"I'm flying to Dubai. Back in four days."

"Okay."

He seemed satisfied with my compliance. He gave a brief nod and walked out the door.

After the door closed, the house was quiet for a long time.

I stood outside the closet, staring at a full row of his uniforms.

For seven years, I'd believed it was life that had kept me on the ground.

It wasn't until today that I admitted the truth. It wasn't life.

It was me, believing his "it's for your own good" over and over, shrinking myself a little more each time.

I walked into the bedroom and pulled open the bottom drawer of the nightstand.

Inside lay a logbook covered in dust.

Beneath it was an ultrasound report, creased from being folded too many times.

Eight weeks. Single fetus. Heartbeat detected.

The date was a month and a half ago.

I slipped the report between the pages of the logbook and placed them both in the suitcase I'd just opened.

Then I logged into the website of a flight school in Bend and filled out a new student application.

Name: Nora Bennett.

Flight experience: pre-solo training completed.

In the box for reason for applying, I wrote a single line.

I will take back everything that is mine, and dedicate the rest of my life to my own career.