« You can get home by yourself. »
The airport smelled of stale coffee and rain-soaked coats. I stood by the empty baggage carousel long after the last suitcase had gone, phone still warm in my hand.
A young clerk behind the counter finally looked up from her screen.
« Ma’am, I’m sorry. Your suitcase didn’t make the transfer in Zurich. We’ll deliver it when it turns up. »
« Thank you, » I whispered, though I hardly heard my own voice.
I sat on a bench near the doors and watched families reunite around me. Then I scrolled to Melissa’s number.
« They’re still our children. »
« You knew Dad was sick, Mom. This wasn’t exactly unexpected. You can get home by yourself. »
I set the phone in my lap. Rain streaked the tall glass windows.
I thought of Henry, who every morning of our married life slipped a small sealed envelope into the inside pocket of his coat before he left for work.
