Chapter 1My plane was crashing. I called my husband to say goodbye. He sent me straight to voicemail.
"Busy. Picking up Hadley."
Five years married. Eighty-six flights.
Every time I landed: "Can you come get me?"
Every time: "Hadley's landing. Gotta get her."
86 flights. 86 times he picked her up.
Worst time? Pouring rain. I dragged my suitcase around for two hours. No cabs.
Called him. Heard Hadley laughing in the background:
"Rowan? Garrett's got his hands full with my bags. He'll call you back when he's done with me."
Now the whole cabin's screaming.
Plane's dropping, left wing's on fire—flames right outside my window.
My phone buzzes.
Him: "Dropped Hadley off. What time you landing? I'll pick you up."
I just stared at it.
Five years. He finally wants to pick me up.
Too bad the plane was already going down.
He doesn't know.
My flight wasn't landing. Not ever.
---
"Garrett, Rowan hasn't texted back yet. Think she's okay?"
Hadley's sitting shotgun. Heat's blasting. She's all cozy.
Garrett's eyes are on the red light ahead.
"She's fine. Just pissed at me."
I'm in the back seat.
Dead.
My body's still in the wreckage somewhere, burning.
But my soul? Somehow I ended up back in his car.
Garrett picks up his phone, hits the voice message button.
"Rowan. I'm at the airport. Which exit you at?"
Message sent.
That little green bar just sits there in the chat.
Nothing.
Time keeps passing. Still nothing.
Wind's picking up outside. Hadley sneezes.
"You think something happened to her?"
Garrett snorts.
"Happened? Nah. She's mad I didn't pick her up. Playing games. Hiding out somewhere."
He hits record again.
"Rowan. Quit being so damn dramatic. Me and Hadley are waiting here!"
Sends it.
Silence.
He shoves his phone in his pocket, annoyed as hell.
"Whatever. It's cold as hell. Let me get you home. She'll quit being dramatic and show up eventually."
He has no idea.
I'm right here. In the back seat. Watching him act like I'm just throwing a tantrum.
The whole drive, Hadley's favorite playlist is on repeat.
Half an hour later, we pull up to her apartment building.
Garrett unbuckles, gets out, grabs her suitcase from the trunk.
Hadley wraps her coat tighter around herself.
"Thanks for coming to get me. You should probably go find Rowan though."
Garrett rolls her suitcase up to the building entrance.
"She's a grown-ass woman. She's got legs. She can get an Uber."
I'm standing right next to them.
Watching this bullshit unfold.
Five years. 86 flights. Not once did he pick me up.
All those times I stood in the freezing cold, waiting forever in the taxi line.
And here he is. Middle of the night. Going out of his way for her.
He pushes her suitcase inside the lobby.
"Go on. Get some sleep."
Hadley steps forward, gives him a quick hug.
"Thanks, Garrett. You've always been there when I needed you. Always."
Garrett pats her back, all gentle.
"Night."
She heads into the elevator.
Garrett stays outside, lights a cigarette.
Flame flickers in the dark.
He pulls up our chat again. Still nothing from me.
He's done now. Fingers flying across the screen.
"Rowan. You wanna act like a brat? Fine. But don't expect me to pick you up ever again. Done playing games. Get an Uber and come home."
Sends it. Locks his phone.
Flicks the cigarette into the trash, gets back in the car.
I slide into the passenger seat. Watch him start the engine.
Garrett.
I'll never ask you to pick me up again.
I'm never coming back.
Chapter 2
Garrett said all that tough-guy crap, but on the drive home? He's speeding like crazy.
He's sure I'm already back. Probably imagines me sitting on the couch, arms crossed, pouting.
He's already planning it out in his head—walk in, say sorry real quick, maybe buy me dinner, and boom. Problem solved.
He pulls into the driveway.
House is pitch black.
He gets annoyed.
Then his phone buzzes.
For a second, he looks excited.
Then his face drops.
It's Hadley.
"Garrett! I'm all settled in. Did Rowan ever text you back?"
He types.
"Nope. She probably checked into some hotel near the airport."
"You should go look for her. It's not safe for a girl to be out alone this late."
Garrett laughs.
"She's fine. What's gonna happen?"
He walks into the bedroom. There's a picture frame on the nightstand.
Our third wedding anniversary photo.
He stares at it for a second.
I'm floating right next to him, thinking—maybe he'll remember.
Tonight, after midnight, it's our five-year anniversary.
But nope.
He's done waiting.
Grabs his pajamas, heads to the bathroom. Shower turns on.
He doesn't even notice the closet.
Bottom drawer. Slightly open.
Inside, there's a little pink gift box peeking out.
That was supposed to be his surprise at midnight.
Inside? A pregnancy test. And a tiny pair of baby booties I picked out.
If the plane hadn't crashed, I would've given it to him tonight.
But now?
Me and that baby? We're both just burnt-up pieces falling from the sky.
Water shuts off.
Garrett walks out in his robe, stands on the balcony, checks his phone.
Still nothing from me.
He calls. No answer.
Getting pissed now. Types out another message.
"Rowan. I'm done with this shit."
"I'm taking Hadley to that breakfast spot near the airport tomorrow morning. That place she loves."
"Just meet us there. And don't make me go looking for you. Trust me, you don't want that."
Sends it.
Tosses his phone on the chair. Goes back inside.
I stare at the message.
Feels like a joke.
That breakfast spot.
That's MY favorite spot. Twenty miles outside the city.
I begged him so many times to take me there on the weekends.
He always said it was too far. Not worth the drive. Waste of time.
But now?
Hadley wants to go.
Suddenly twenty miles is no big deal.
Garrett lies down. Turns off the light.
His breathing gets slow and steady.
He falls asleep.
Calm as hell.
Still thinks tomorrow everything'll just be fine.
Chapter 3
Next morning, Garrett tries calling me again before he leaves.
Still no answer.
He picks up Hadley, drives toward the airport.
Morning rush hour. Traffic's a nightmare.
Radio's on.
"Breaking news this morning. Flight 237 out of Dallas went down last night after hitting some serious turbulence. Rescue crews are still on the scene. All 132 people on board—passengers and crew—still missing..."
Hadley's hand flies to her mouth. Face goes white.
"Oh my god... wait—Rowan flew back from Dallas too. She wasn't on that one... right?"
Garrett drums his fingers on the wheel. Doesn't even look worried.
"Nah. She'd never take that flight. That's the expensive one—prime time slot. She's way too cheap for that."
I'm sitting in the back seat. Watching him.
So sure of himself.
He doesn't know.
To make it back in time. To surprise him before our five-year anniversary.
I changed my flight to that one.
He parks outside the restaurant.
"Let's go. Gotta feed you."
Inside, it's packed. Loud. Crowded.
Garrett keeps scanning the room, looking for me.
Checks his watch every few minutes. Getting more annoyed.
He thought I should've been here early. Saved a table. Waiting for him.
But now?
Time's passing. Still no sign of me.
"She's really pushing it."
He's already planning his next move—after breakfast, he'll drive to a few hotels near the airport and ask around.
Then his phone rings.
It's his VP. Emergency meeting. Needs him back at the office ASAP.
After they finish eating, Garrett drops Hadley off at her place.
Then drives straight to work.
Walks into his office. His assistant's waiting.
"Mr. Ashford, meeting stuff's all ready."
"Good."
Garrett pulls off his jacket, hangs it over the chair.
Assistant hesitates. Then clears her throat.
"Mr. Ashford... is your wife okay? Saw that plane crash on the news last night. Kinda freaked me out."
Garrett opens his laptop. Doesn't look up.
"She's fine. Wasn't on that one."
"Oh, thank god." She exhales. Then adds, "Hey—today's your five-year anniversary, right? Want me to snag you a reservation somewhere?"
Garrett freezes.
Oh. Shit.
That's why Rowan's been MIA since last night. Why she's doing this whole disappearing thing.
His expression softens a bit.
"Yeah. That French spot by the river. And send over some red roses."
She smiles. "Got it."
Garrett picks up his phone.
Stares at our dead-silent chat. Sighs.
Types out:
"Rowan. My bad about last night. Shoulda picked you up."
Drops the restaurant pin.
"Tonight. 7 o'clock. Let me make it right?"
He's already playing it out in his head.
I see the fancy reservation, the roses, the whole deal—boom. I'm over it.
That's his playbook.
He's a hundred percent sure some overpriced dinner and a bouquet will fix this.
But he has no idea.
I'm never gonna see any of it.
