The fluorescent lights of Chicago O’Hare International Airport created harsh shadows across my husband’s face as I watched him prepare to board his flight to New York. It was supposed to be just another business trip—three days of meetings, the usual routine we’d repeated countless times over our eight-year marriage. Richard stood beside me in his impeccable gray suit, projecting the image of the successful executive saying goodbye to his devoted family. To anyone watching, we looked like the perfect couple.
If only they could have seen the truth hiding beneath that carefully constructed surface.
My six-year-old son Matthew gripped my hand with unusual intensity, his small fingers digging into my palm with an urgency I couldn’t quite understand. He’d always been a quiet, observant child, the type who preferred watching from the sidelines, but tonight something was different. A fear I couldn’t name lurked in his brown eyes, making my maternal instincts prickle with unease.
“This New York meeting is crucial,” Richard said, pulling me into what felt like a rehearsed embrace. His cologne—the expensive one I’d given him for his birthday—seemed overwhelming in the recycled airport air. “Three days maximum, then I’ll be home. You’ll take care of everything here, right?”
Take care of everything. As if my entire existence was simply maintaining his world while he built his empire. But I smiled anyway, because that’s what I’d learned to do over the years. That’s what was expected.
“Of course. We’ll be fine,” I replied automatically, feeling Matthew’s grip intensify until it almost hurt.
Richard crouched before our son, placing both hands on his small shoulders in that practiced gesture he used whenever cameras might be watching. “And you, champ, you take care of Mommy for me, okay?”
Matthew didn’t nod or smile. Instead, he stared at his father’s face with an intensity that seemed strange for someone so young, his eyes moving across every feature as if memorizing them, as if he were seeing Richard for the very last time. The moment felt significant, weighted with meaning I couldn’t yet grasp.
I should have noticed then. I should have recognized the warning signs. But we never see danger when it wears a familiar face, do we? We think eight years of marriage means we know someone completely.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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