15. Dante
— ? —
Dante
The Morning of Her Flight
“What’s wrong?”
“She’s leaving.” Sophia’s voice is tight. Urgent. “She booked a flight to London. This morning. She didn’t tell anyone.”
The floor drops out.
“What?”
“The job Julian offered. She took it. She’s at the airport right now, Dante. Her flight leaves in two hours.”
I’m already moving. Keys, wallet, shoes. “Which terminal?”
“International. But Dante-”
“I have to stop her.”
“Dante.” Her voice sharpens. “Listen to me. She made this choice. She chose to leave without telling you.”
“Because I didn’t give her a reason to stay.”
“You gave up your entire company.”
“She didn’t know that.” I grab my jacket. “She didn’t know because I didn’t tell her. I was waiting for the right moment, and there’s never a right moment, and now-”
“Dante.”
“I can’t let her go, Sophia. Not like this.”
A pause. Then, softer: “I know.”
I hang up. And I run.
***
The rain starts before I hit the highway.
Not a drizzle - a downpour. The kind that turns windshields into waterfalls and roads into rivers. I push the car faster anyway.
The stack of letters is on the passenger seat. I grabbed them on the way out - the whole drawer, every unfinished page. I don’t know what I’m going to do with them. Read them to her? Give them to her? Burn them in front of her as proof that I’m done hiding?
It doesn’t matter. What matters is getting there.
My phone keeps buzzing. The board. My lawyer. Three different financial analysts wanting comments on the stock price.
The stock cratered after my announcement. Worse after the gala speech. Julian’s been circling the weakened company like a shark scenting blood. The press is having a field day -billionaire abandons empire for failed marriage- and everyone wants to know why.
I don’t care.
None of it registers. The money, the company, the reputation I spent a decade building - it’s all just noise now. Static.
The only loss that matters is driving toward an airport terminal with a one-way ticket to London.
***
The terminal is chaos.
I find parking - badly, across two spaces, I’ll deal with the ticket later - and run through the rain to the doors. Inside, everything is noise and movement and people who aren’t her.
Departures. International. Gate 47.
I run.
Security. I don’t have a ticket. “Sir, you can’t go past this point without a boarding pass.”
“I need to get to Gate 47.”
“Sir-”
“Please.” I’m soaking wet, wild-eyed, probably look like a lunatic. “My wife is about to get on a plane and I need to-”
“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to step aside.”
I step aside.
The board I can see from here shows her flight: LONDON HEATHROW, 8 AM, NOW BOARDING.
She’s right there. Right on the other side of security. And I can’t get to her.
***
The viewing area.
It’s the only option. A glass wall overlooking the gates, where families wave goodbye to travelers they can’t follow.
I find a spot. Press my palm to the cold glass.
And there she is.
Nora. Standing at the gate, bag over her shoulder, boarding pass in her hand. She looks - small. Uncertain. Not like a woman who’s sure about what she’s doing.
My instinct is to bang on the glass. Scream her name. Make it impossible for her to leave.
But that’s what I always did. That’s who I always was. The man who controlled outcomes. Who fixed problems by forcing them into the shape he wanted.
I remember the lake house. Choose me when the roads are clear.
I remember her walking away that morning. When I believe you’d have chosen me even if you had other options.
Chasing her is exactly what smothered her. Demanding she stay is exactly what drove her away.
If I love her - really love her - I have to let the choice be hers.
I make myself stop.
I make myself breathe.
And I watch her standing at that gate, praying she turns around.
***
The letters are still in my hand.
A stack of paper, soaked through from the rain. All those words I couldn’t say. All those nights I spent writing instead of reaching.
I could give her a reason to stay, I think. A scene. The kind of thing that works in movies.
Or I could give her the truth and let her go if she needs to.
Loving her right means the choice was never mine to make.
She’s at the front of the line now. The gate agent takes her boarding pass. Scans it.
Turn around, I think. Please. Just turn around.
She hesitates. Looks back over her shoulder.
And sees me.
Through the glass. Soaked. Desperate. Holding a stack of ruined letters and making no move to stop her.
Her face does something complicated. Shock. Confusion. Something that might be hope.
I’m not chasing, I think at her. I’m just here. I’ll always be here. Whatever you choose.
The gate agent says something. Hands back her boarding pass.
Nora looks at me one more time.
And I make myself stay still.