16. Nora
— ? —
Nora
Departure Day
The gate agent hands back my boarding pass.
“You’re all set, Mrs. Moretti. Have a safe flight.”
Mrs. Moretti. The name feels wrong now. Like a dress that used to fit and doesn’t anymore.
I take the pass. Turn toward the jetway.
And something makes me look back.
Through the glass wall of the terminal, past the security checkpoint, past the crowds of travelers and the shops and the chaos-
Dante.
He’s standing at the viewing window, soaked to the bone, rain still dripping from his hair. His suit is ruined. His shoes are probably destroyed. And in his hands-
The letters.
The whole stack of them, water-stained and falling apart at the edges. Every unfinished confession. Every word he couldn’t say.
He’s not moving.
Not pounding on the glass. Not trying to get past security. Not making a scene or demanding to speak to me or doing any of the things I would have expected from the man who spent a decade controlling every outcome of his life.
He’s just standing there.
Letting me choose.
***
That’s what breaks me.
The gate agent is saying something. Final boarding. Last call. The jetway is right there, and London is waiting, and the life I rebuilt is on the other side of that door.
But my feet won’t move forward.
They move backward.
“Ma’am? Ma’am, the flight is boarding-”
“I’m not getting on.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m not-” I shove the boarding pass back at her. “I’m not getting on. I have to-”
I don’t finish the sentence.
I run.
***
The terminal is a blur.
My bag slips off my shoulder somewhere near Gate 43. I don’t stop to pick it up. My heels are impossible to run in, so I kick them off and leave them behind, running barefoot through the airport in my traveling clothes with my hair coming loose and my heart threatening to break through my ribs.
People are staring. Of course they’re staring. A woman running full speed through an international terminal, shoving past travelers, gasping for breath-
“Excuse me - sorry -move-”
Someone’s filming on their phone. I don’t care. Let them film. Let the whole world watch.
I reach the security checkpoint. The same guard who stopped Dante tries to stop me.
“Ma’am, you can’t-”
“That’s my husband!”
I point through the glass. Dante hasn’t moved. He’s still standing there, still holding those ruined letters, still waiting.
“I don’t care about the rules. I don’t care about the protocol. That man just gave up everything for me, and I need to-”
“Let her through.”
The voice comes from somewhere behind the guard. A supervisor, maybe. Someone with authority.
“Let her through,” they say again. “Just this once.”
The guard steps aside.
I run.
***
Dante sees me coming.
His face does something I’ve never seen before - shock, then hope, then something that looks like it might be terror. Like he’s afraid to believe what he’s seeing.
“Nora-”
I crash into him.
My arms go around his neck. His go around my waist. We’re both shaking - from cold, from adrenaline, from everything we’ve been holding back for months.
“You came back.” His voice breaks. “You came back.”
“You didn’t chase me.”
“I couldn’t. Not again. I couldn’t be the man who controls the outcome anymore, I had to-” He pulls back to look at me. His eyes are wet. “I had to let you choose.”
“I’m choosing.” I grab his face. “Dante, I’m choosing. Right now. Right here.”
“Nora-”
“Don’t talk. Just listen.” I’m crying now - tears streaming down my face, mixing with the rain still dripping from his hair.
“I was at the gate. I had the boarding pass in my hand. And I couldn’t do it.
I couldn’t get on that plane because the only thing waiting in London is a life without you, and I don’t-”
My voice breaks.
“I don’t want a life without you.”
***
A crowd is forming.
I can see them in my peripheral vision - travelers stopping to watch, phones raised, people whispering to each other. The terminal has gone quiet around us, everyone holding their breath.
Let them watch.
“I was so scared.” Dante’s voice is raw.
Shattered. “Our whole marriage, I was so scared of failing you that I failed you in the worst possible way. I buried myself in work because it was easier than admitting I was drowning. I told myself I was building something for us, for our future, but I was really just - hiding.”
“Dante-”
“Let me finish. Please.” He wipes his face with a shaking hand. “I took a leave. Six months. No phone, no company, no board meetings. Not to win you back - I knew I couldn’t do that. I took it to become someone different. Someone who deserves to be reached for.”
“You did that for me?”
“I did it because you were right.” He laughs - a broken, desperate sound. “You were right about everything. The cold year. The invisible feeling. The way I made you smaller every time I chose work over you. I can’t undo any of it. But I can be different. I am different.”
“I know.” I touch his face. “I saw you through the glass. Standing there. Not chasing.”
“I wanted to chase. God, Nora, I wanted to bang on the glass and scream your name and make it impossible for you to leave-”
“But you didn’t.”
“Because that’s who I was. The man who controls everything. And you needed me to let go.” His voice drops. “You are not the thing I lost, Nora. You’re the only thing I ever had. The company, the money, the reputation - none of it means anything without you.”
Someone in the crowd gasps. Someone else says “Oh my God” loud enough to carry.
I don’t care.
I pull Dante down and kiss him.
***
The kiss is everything.
It’s desperate and messy and tastes like tears and rain. His hands are in my hair, on my back, pulling me closer like he’s afraid I’ll disappear. I grip his ruined lapels and kiss him like my life depends on it.
Because maybe it does.
When we finally break apart, the terminal erupts.
Applause. Actual applause - whooping and cheering and someone wolf-whistling from somewhere near the coffee shop. A little girl asks her mother, “Did they just get married?” and her mother laughs and says, “Something like that, baby.”
Dante looks around at the crowd, stunned.
“They’re clapping.”
“They’re romantics.” I wipe my face. My mascara is definitely destroyed. “We just gave them a show.”
“The best show.” He laughs - a real laugh, surprised and joyful. “I can’t believe you came back.”
“I can’t believe you let me choose.”
“I’ll always let you choose.” He presses his forehead to mine. “From now on. Always.”
I take a breath. “Come with me.”
“Where?”
“Anywhere.” I grab his hand. “Not London. Not New York. Somewhere that’s neither of ours. Somewhere we can figure out who we are without the weight of everything we used to be.”
“Name the city.”
“Florence.” The word comes out before I think about it. “My mother used to talk about Florence. The light. The art. She always wanted to go.”
“Then Florence.” He squeezes my hand. “Tonight. Tomorrow. Whenever you want.”
“Now.” I’m crying again. “I want to go now.”
He looks at me for a long moment. Then he turns to the crowd - the strangers who’ve been watching our entire breakdown with their phones and their tears and their cheers.
“Does anyone know where I can buy a ticket to Florence?”
Someone actually answers. “Gate 31! The ITA Airways counter!”
Dante laughs. Looks at me. “You heard the man.”
I grab his hand.
We walk out of the terminal together, past the cheering strangers and the gate agent still holding my abandoned boarding pass. Through the automatic doors and into the rain, which is still falling, still soaking everything it touches.
We don’t care.
Behind us, my London flight boards without me.