I went to the airport to surprise my husband after six months apart—only to find another woman already there, holding a sign with his name on it.
For six months, I had seen my husband only through the screen of my phone.
I wanted to watch him walk toward me. I wanted to hold him in my arms and stay there long enough for him to complain that we were blocking the way.
Jeremy had been abroad, helping his company open a new office. We had discussed the assignment for weeks before he accepted it. Six months was a long time, but it was a great opportunity, and we knew exactly when it would end.
Or at least, that’s what I kept telling myself.
He had missed our daughter’s birthday. Our son had lost his first tooth—I kept it, just as Jeremy had asked me to. I’d jot down little notes on my phone about things the kids said, so I wouldn’t forget to tell him once we finally had the chance to talk.
Some nights, when he called, I was too exhausted to remember anything at all.
But now, he was coming home.
His flight was scheduled for Tuesday afternoon. He thought I would be at work.
I had told him I couldn’t change my schedule—which was true, until a colleague offered to cover for me.
“You don’t need to come pick me up,” he had said. “I’ll just take a taxi. I just want to get home.”
I almost told him everything right then and there.
Instead, I replied, “Alright. I’ll see you at home.” »
My sister had agreed to pick up the kids and help them hang the banner they’d made in our kitchen window. Her favorite dinner was waiting in the fridge. For once, I’d even managed to clear all the dirty laundry off our bed.
The day before his flight, he called me while he was finishing up his packing.
“Tomorrow,” he said, smiling at the screen. “Can you believe it?”
“Not until I actually see you.”
Then, just before hanging up, he added, “I’ve missed you.”
I fell asleep thinking about the way he’d said it.
I arrived at the airport nearly an hour early. I bought a coffee—which I barely touched—and kept checking the arrivals board, even though I had the flight details pulled up on my phone.
When the word “landed” finally appeared, I took my place near the gate.
Other people were already waiting with flowers and balloons. A little boy standing next to me kept asking his grandmother if every man who walked through the doors was his dad.
I smiled at him. Then, I checked my reflection in my phone screen and tucked my hair behind my ears.
That was when I noticed the sign.
A white sign. Big, black letters.
I looked at it, looked away, then looked back again.
A woman was holding it, just a few feet away from me. Brown hair pulled back, not too tightly; a beige coat; a canvas bag slung across her body. She kept lowering the sign to check her phone, then raising it again whenever a new group walked through the doors.
My first thought was that his company had arranged for a driver.
He’d said he would take a taxi, but perhaps someone at the office had organized his transport.
“Excuse me. Are you here to pick up Jérémie on behalf of his company?”
She turned toward me.
“No,” she replied. “We arranged this ourselves.”
“Oh, I see. How do you know him?”
She glanced at the sign, then looked back at me.
“Are you waiting for him, too?”
Then came the shocking detail that changed the entire story forever… (Continue to Part 2 →)
