Three years of marriage, and all I’d ever wanted was a honeymoon with Mason Hale. After Whitney Cole booked my flight as hers for the tenth time, I stopped asking for a rebooking. She blinked up at me, all wide eyes and fumbling apologies. “Mrs. Hale, I’m so sorry — I did it again. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” “I could rebook right now, but — the thing is — all the other flights today are full. If we change it, Mr. Hale’s schedule gets pushed back by three days.” She bit her lip. Her eyes drifted to Mason. Mason didn’t look up. His voice was flat, like he was scheduling a conference call. “Don’t bother rebooking. Serena, cover Whitney’s Paris trip. The Maldives can wait.” I didn’t say anything. I picked up the ticket — my ticket, the one to Paris — and walked away. Mason. Once I see what thirty thousand feet looks like without you, I will never look back. — The check-in line was long. I stood in it with my suitcase, passport in one hand, boarding pass in the other. Someone tapped my shoulder. I turned around. Whitney. Blinking at me, sweet as ever. “Mrs. Hale, could I have your Maldives itinerary? Since you can’t go anyway — you might as well let me and Mr. Hale use it.” She reached for my bag as she said it. I stepped back. Her hand froze in the air. I looked at her and said, quietly: “No.” Her smile flickered. She pulled her hand back, fingers twisting together. “I just thought I’d borrow it — it’s fine if you’d rather not. I know you’re still upset with me.” Mason, who hadn’t said a word, spoke up. Impatient. “It’s just a travel guide, Serena. No point letting it sit there. Give it to her.” I looked at him. “I made that for us.” He frowned. “You’re not going anymore. Whitney just wants to look at it — you can always make another one.” “Make another one?” I repeated it softly. “Exactly.” Whitney stepped closer, her voice going syrupy. “I’m sure yours is amazing, Mrs. Hale. We’ll follow it and give you all the feedback — next time you go, you’ll have even more to work with!” I stood there looking at Whitney’s smile and at Mason nodding along like this was completely reasonable, and something inside me went very quiet. I reached into my bag and pulled out the binder. Laminated cover. Color-coded tabs. Sticky notes on every page — notes, warnings, hand-drawn maps. Restaurant reservation numbers written in the margins, one by one. “You want to use my itinerary. Stay in the hotel I booked. Follow the plans I made. Tell me — were you going to take my place in his bed too?” Her hand went still. The smile died on her face. “Serena.” Mason’s voice cracked like a whip. “What the hell is wrong with you?” I threw the binder at him. My voice was shaking. “Am I wrong? She books my seat as hers ten times and you say nothing. She asks for my itinerary and you hand her mine. She wants the Maldives and you take her. So tell me — Mason — am I your wife, or is she?” Mason grabbed my wrist. Hard. Hard enough to bruise. “You’re losing your mind. Whitney works herself to the bone every single day and you can’t share a travel guide? What do you even do all day?” I pulled against his grip. It was useless. “You can’t see that she does it on purpose? You can’t see her asking for it right in front of you? You can’t see the way she looks at you?” “Enough.” He shoved my hand away. I stumbled back into my suitcase, the corner catching me in the side, sharp enough that my eyes stung. Whitney gasped and rushed toward me, eyes already red. “Mrs. Hale, are you okay? This is my fault — I never should have asked for it — please don’t blame Mr. Hale, he just has a short temper—” Then she swayed. Her whole body pitched sideways, straight into Mason’s arms. “Ah — Mrs. Hale, what are you doing?” Mason caught her. He looked up at me, and his eyes were full of something I didn’t recognize anymore — anger, and disappointment, and not a single trace of doubt. “Why did you push her? Are you insane?” I looked at his hands, wrapped tight around her waist. Protecting her. Standing between us. I felt the last of my fight go out of me. “I didn’t push her.” “I watched you. Don’t stand there and deny it in front of everyone.” My voice went calm. “What exactly did you watch?” He stopped. Whitney lifted her head from his chest, tears streaked down her face. “Mr. Hale — I’m so dizzy. I think I’ve been overworking myself.” Mason didn’t look at me again. He bent down and lifted her. “I’ll take you somewhere to rest.” Whitney looped her arms around his neck, her head against his shoulder. Over his shoulder, she looked at me. I called his name. “Mason.” He stopped walking. He didn’t turn around. “If you walk out with her right now, we’re done.” He stood still for three seconds. Then he kept walking. I stood in the check-in line and watched his back get smaller. Watched him carry her through the crowd. Watched him round the corner and disappear. The binder was on the floor. Pages scattered. Sticky notes face-down, footprints pressed into my handwriting. The elderly woman behind me touched my arm gently. “Honey. It’s your turn.” I looked up. The agent at the counter was watching me, expression carefully neutral. I pulled together a smile and said, “I’m sorry.” Then I crouched down and gathered the pages, one by one. Walked to the trash can. Dropped them in. On the jet bridge, I thought: Sincerity. What a worthless thing to give someone.
Somewhere over the Atlantic, the plane dropped. I grabbed the armrest. Knuckles white. The cabin lurched again, harder this time. Around me, passengers sucked in sharp, strangled breaths. Almost without thinking, I picked up my phone and texted Mason. Turbulence is bad. I’m scared. He didn’t reply. The plane bucked again — worse than before. The overhead bins rattled. My hands were shaking. I sent another message. Still nothing. I thought about something Mason said, a long time ago. “If you’re ever scared on a flight, text me. I’ll always have my phone on. I’ll answer right away.” We hadn’t been together long. He was traveling for work, and I was flying home alone. We hit a rough patch over the mountains and I’d gripped the seat until my palms were damp. When I landed, there were dozens of texts from him. The last one was a voice note. I pressed play and heard his voice, low and close: “Next time, I’ll fly with you.” The plane steadied. I exhaled and picked up my phone. Maybe instinct. I opened Instagram and went to Whitney’s profile. New story. Nine photos. Caption: “business trip with the boss but make it fun!! he’s actually SO good at Mario Kart! In the photo, she was grinning, controller raised like a trophy. Beside her, Mason — in profile, head bowed, a faint smile at the corner of his mouth, eyes fixed on the screen. The timestamp read 3 minutes ago. The plane dipped. My stomach dropped with it. Mario Kart. The two words pierced my heart like a needle. Mason and I had tried to play once, early on. Before we were married. I’d pulled out the Switch and begged him to play with me. He’d looked at the screen like I’d handed him something embarrassing. “What’s the point? It’s childish.” I’d tugged at his arm. “Just one round, please.” He’d pulled away, voice flat. “Serena, if it gets out that I’m sitting at home playing video games, how am I supposed to command any respect at work?” I’d laughed it off. Put the controller down. Never asked again. And now he was playing Mario Kart with Whitney Cole. Not childish anymore. Not beneath him. The plane jolted again. The man in the next seat muttered something under his breath. I sat perfectly still, phone face-down on my lap, eyes closed. My eyes were hot. But I couldn’t cry. — The plane touched down at Charles de Gaulle just as Paris was turning grey-blue with early light. I was dragging my suitcase out of the terminal when my phone rang. Honey. I stared at the word for three full seconds before I answered. “You land okay?” “Yeah. Just landed.” “Just saw your messages. You alright?” “Fine.” I kept walking, suitcase wheels loud on the pavement, trying to decide whether to say anything else — when I heard it. A voice drifted through from his end — soft, almost honeyed, the kind of voice that knew exactly what it was doing even over a phone line. “Mr. Hale, come help me — I don’t know how to do this part—” Whitney. His voice shifted away from the phone, muffled but still clear enough. “Coming.” Then, back to me: “Go ahead and get settled. Talk later.” He hung up before I could answer. I lowered the phone and looked at the screen. Call ended. Talk later. About what? That I was scared on the plane and he didn’t answer? That I’d been waiting for a text that never came? That I watched him smile at a video game controller the way he used to smile at me? I didn’t want to say any of it anymore. — For the next few days, I learned about my husband through Whitney’s Instagram. She and Mason went to the Michelin-starred restaurant I’d marked in the binder. She and Mason rode the Ferris wheel. Her caption: he’s afraid of heights??? too cute!! Every photo, she was laughing. Every photo, he was there. I sat in a café and scrolled through them slowly. When Mason and I first got married, I’d told him about that restaurant. He’d said we might as well eat at home. I’d mentioned the Ferris wheel once. He said the lines were a waste of time. — That night, a new post. One photo. A hotel room — floor-to-ceiling windows, sheer curtains, a wide bed made up in white. My finger stopped. That was the hotel I’d booked. The couples suite. The room I had meant for us. I zoomed in on the edge of the frame. On the far side of the bed, just barely in the shot — a hand. And on the wrist, a watch. The one I gave him for our third anniversary. I set the phone down. Finished the last of my coffee. Then I opened my messages and texted my lawyer. Draft the divorce petition. Then I opened my email and wrote to HR. I’m resigning, effective immediately. Please process the paperwork. When it was done, I sat there thinking about the cover page of the binder I’d thrown away. Paris with Mason. The Maldives. Everywhere we always said we’d go. I meant every word of it when I wrote it. But it’s fine. I can go alone.
Watch👉 https://cps-front.novelix.live/app-api/ext/new/20260701MtNUNG8l5S 🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “Novelix” app 🔍 search for “ni324131”, and watch the full series ✨! #Novelix
Leave a Reply