I saw him again a month later, on a flight to
Chengdu. The weather was perfect, the flight
smooth. He was with the same woman. She
had pale skin and leaned against his shoulder,
sleeping peacefully. It was International
Women’s Day. The airline was handing out
roses. “Ladies and gentlemen, in celebration
of International Women’s Day, we have a rose
for each female passenger. May you always
embrace time gracefully. Happy Women’s
Day!” “Thank you, how thoughtful!” “I never
get flowers, and now I get one on a plane!”
“Happy Women’s Day to you too, miss!” |
finished distributing the roses and glanced
towards business class. The senior purser
was giving a rose to the woman next to Mark.
“Happy Women’s Day. Shall I place this on
your tray?” “Sure.”
Back in the galley, I washed trays and sat at
my station, staring at the clouds, my heart a
mix of stillness and ache. As the clouds
parted, my cold fingers twitched. I tilted my
head back. Some people are just not meant
for you. Let him go. “Ladies and gentlemen,
we will be landing in Chengdu in thirty.
minutes… We look forward to seeing you on
your next journey with us.” As the plane
began its descent, I walked over to Mark.
“Mark,” I whispered, “I agree to the divorce.
I’m off tomorrow. Let’s do it.”
[This section was numbered 10 in the original
text. Numbering corrected for continuity.]
After my shift, I dragged a large suitcase
home. I used my fingerprint to unlock the
door. Mark was home, unexpectedly. Was it
because of the divorce? Would the house feel
less suffocating now that I was leaving? I
wheeled the suitcase inside and started the
rice cooker before heading to the bedroom to
pack. He stood in the doorway for a moment.
<
“Don’t bother,” he said. “You can keep the
house.” I froze, then turned and shook my
head. “You bought it before we married. I
didn’t contribute anything. I can’t accept it.” I
continued packing. He watched for a moment,
then left. I was grateful. I folded clothes,
swept toiletries into bags, and packed
everything I owned. It felt like I had just been
a temporary resident, now moving out. I didn’t
feel like I had ever been the mistress of this
house. Just a ghost.
[This section was numbered 11 in the original
text.] I hadn’t expected him back tonight. I
hadn’t bought groceries. There was no point
in preparing a meal to try and keep him.
anymore. When the rice was cooked, I went
downstairs to a deli and bought some cold
dishes. “Dinner’s ready,” I called. He closed
his book and walked in from the balcony. The
food seemed to surprise him. “I thought you
wouldn’t be back, that we’d go straight to the
courthouse tomorrow,” I explained, picking at
my rice. “So I didn’t cook. Just make do
tonight.” To my surprise, he sat down and
ate. We ate in silence. Halfway through, he
spoke. “Where did you get this? It’s actually
pretty good.” He finished his bowl, and then
mine.
[This section was numbered 12 in the original
text.] I washed the dishes and cleaned the
kitchen. Mark sat on the balcony, hands
resting on the arms of the chair, lost in
thought. I realized how little I knew him. He
was a businessman, I was a flight attendant.
Our worlds barely touched. Yet, a single
fleeting encounter seven years ago had
imprinted him on my heart. Fate had been
kind, bringing us together despite our
<
different backgrounds. But we, so unfamiliar
with each other, had squandered that
kindness. He deserved better. If people were
pearls, he was luminous, and I, dull and
insignificant. I finished packing my things,
showered, and gathered my bathroom
essentials. He took a few calls on the
balcony, glancing at me occasionally.
[This section was numbered 13 in the original
text.] I sealed the last box. There was nothing
left of me in the living room. I sat on the
couch, exhausted. Mark walked in. His long
legs carried him effortlessly across the room.
He had no flaws, this young, successful man.
“I’m sorry for these past two years,” he said.
“Take this.” He offered me a black card. “The
PIN is your birthday.” I looked at him,
surprised he even remembered. He must have
looked it up to change the PIN. “No, thank
you,” I said. “I make enough to support
myself.” He sat down. I refused the card, but
he didn’t take it back. “Can I ask you
something?” I nodded. “Anything.” “Will you
get married again?” I asked. “Will you have a
big wedding?” Our wedding had been a
simple affair, just a dinner with family after
the courthouse. If he married again, it would
be to someone he loved, a grand celebration
with witnesses to their joy. “Don’t overthink
things,” he said. “Get some rest.” He’d let me
ask, but he hadn’t answered. He got up and
went to his room. I sat for a while, then went
to bed.
[This section was numbered 14 in the original
text.] He was up before me. I grabbed my ID.
“Let’s go.” The drive to the courthouse was
silent. I watched the traffic, noticing the soft
leather of the passenger seat, a seat I’d rarely
occupied. This was my last ride. I wondered
about the woman he’d brought on the plane,
the only one he’d brought twice. What was it
like for her, sitting here? Would she snack
and chat? Would he play music? I pushed the
thought away. I realized I was finally letting go
of this marriage. At the courthouse, we were
quiet and efficient. We signed, stamped, and
received our decrees. The paper in my hand
felt cold. “I’ll move my things out today,” I
said. “No rush,” he replied. “Take your time.”
“Go to work,” I said. “I’ll be fine.” Back at the
house, I arranged for couriers to pick up box
after box, sending them to my apartment. The
last suitcase I carried to the door. I deleted
my fingerprint from the lock, closed the door,
and walked away.
