It took me threatening to call off the wedding for my fiancée, Charlotte, a captain at Transcontinental Airlines, to finally agree to let me fly on one of her transatlantic routes. “Be at the flagship lounge by five-thirty tomorrow morning,” she’d told me, her voice clipped and professional. “If you’re late, don’t expect me to wait.” Terrified of missing it, I arrived outside her apartment building at three in the morning, holding a warm container of breakfast I’d spent hours preparing for her. Instead, I watched Elliot walk out of the lobby, his arm wrapped tightly around her waist. “Charlotte,” Elliot murmured, leaning into her. “What if Wesley actually shows up at the airport?” Charlotte let out a soft, dismissive chuckle. “Don’t worry. I hid his passport folder. He won’t even make it past security.” My hand drifted to my bag, slipping into the empty compartment. My fingertips went entirely cold. Charlotte reached up to adjust Elliot’s scarf, tucking it in gently. “I promised I’d spend these last seven days flying with you before the wedding. I won’t cut it short by even a day.” At five-thirty, I stood by the floor-to-ceiling glass of the terminal, watching her Boeing 777 taxi toward the runway. She never once looked back at the terminal. I tore my boarding pass into shreds, let them flutter into the trash can, and turned away. The plane that wouldn’t wait for me—I was no longer trying to catch it. 1. The paper bag in my hand was still warm when I walked out of the terminal. I had simmered the oatmeal at two in the morning, and packed the fresh fruit tarts Charlotte loved so much. Three years ago, when she first took me to see the planes, we stood just outside the airfield fence. She’d taken a bite of a pastry I made, looked at me, and laughed. “From now on, Wesley, every major flight I command, you’re coming with me.” Back then, her pilot uniform was flawlessly pressed, her captain’s stripes gleaming under the morning sun. After her promotion, she flew her parents. She flew her colleagues. She flew Elliot. She flew everyone but me. My phone buzzed in my palm. A text from Charlotte popped onto the screen. Did you seriously try to show up without your passport just to throw a tantrum? Are you done yet? Another followed immediately: Go home and wait for me. We’re fitting our suit and dress in seven days. Stop trying to scare me with this ‘calling off the wedding’ nonsense. The words glared back at me, sharp as needles. Then, an unknown number flashed on the screen. I picked up. Elliot’s voice came through, raspy with sleep. “Wesley? Charlotte just went wheels up. Before she switched her phone to flight mode, she asked me to tell you not to make a scene.” The wind rushed past me in the airport parking lot, cold and empty. Elliot let out a soft, mocking laugh. “She’s mine for the next seven days. If you actually want to marry her, you’d better learn to behave.” The wind caught the paper bag in my hand. A splash of hot oatmeal spilled over the rim, scalding the back of my hand. The physical sting was instant; the dull ache in my chest took a second longer to register. On the flight status board, the status of Charlotte’s flight changed to Departed. She had been flying on my birthday last year, too. At midnight, she’d sent me a photo of the sea of clouds from her cockpit window. Happy birthday, Wesley. I’ll make it up to you when I land. But that exact same photo appeared on Elliot’s Instagram feed an hour later. His caption: Someone is keeping me company above the clouds for New Year’s. When I asked her about it, Charlotte only frowned, her brow furrowing with irritation. “It was his first long-haul flight and he was anxious. I was just taking care of a passenger. Can you please stop being so insecure?” Behind me, the automatic doors slid open, and the rattle of rolling suitcases echoed on the concrete. Someone bumped into my shoulder. The paper bag slipped from my fingers, hitting the pavement. The carefully packed pastries scattered across the ground. A janitor stepped forward to sweep them up, but I crouched down first, pulling the torn paper tight, gathering the ruins myself. My phone lit up again. It was Charlotte’s father, Richard Croft. Wesley, what did you do to upset Charlotte now? She’s commanding a transatlantic flight today. Do you have any idea how much stress she’s under? Start acting like a proper fiancé. A voice memo followed right after. Elliot is a good boy. He knows how to look after Charlotte. Stop having such a dirty mind about them. I stared at the voice message for a long, quiet moment. Over the PA system, another boarding call echoed. In that sudden, clear instant, I realized I had absolutely no desire to explain myself. A yellow cab pulled up to the curb. The driver rolled down the window. “Where to, buddy?” I gave him the address of my family’s old house. No one had lived there in years. After my parents passed away, I had moved into the luxury townhouse Charlotte bought for us, wanting to make her life easier. The deed was in her name. Our engagement photos hung prominently in the living room. I had always believed that if I was just patient enough, supportive enough, she would eventually turn around and truly see me. Outside the cab window, a plane cut a sharp white line across the pale blue sky. I unlocked my phone, went to my favorites, and unpinned the contact I’d kept at the top for seven years. Charlotte’s name dropped down, vanishing into the crowd of ordinary contacts. As the cab sped down the airport expressway, I leaned out at a stoplight and tossed the cold, ruined breakfast into a roadside bin. 2. The spare key to the old house was still tucked behind the electric meter box by the porch. As I pushed the door open, a thick layer of dust stirred into the air. In the middle of the living room, a dusty white sheet draped over the upright piano—the one my father used to play every evening before he died. The first time Charlotte came here, she wore a simple white button-down, standing by the piano as she listened to me play a Chopin nocturne. When the last note faded, she’d looked at me with pure wonder. “Wesley, you are so incredible. If I don’t marry you, I must be blind.” That promise became the anchor everyone used to drag me back whenever I tried to drift away. Charlotte does love you. She’s just busy. She’s just stubborn. She just feels guilty about Elliot. But no one ever explained to me why her guilt entitled Elliot to walk out of her apartment building with his arm wrapped around her waist. I pulled back the heavy drapes, letting the morning sun illuminate the relics of my past. On the coffee table lay a document I had drafted weeks ago. An agreement to dissolve our engagement. I had printed it out last month. The night I first brought up ending things, Charlotte had just returned from Elliot’s place. Her coat clung to the faint, sweet scent of lily of the valley—his signature cologne. “Wesley, stop treating our marriage like a joke,” she had said, throwing her keys on the counter. I had looked at her. “Are you in love with him?” Charlotte loosened her pilot’s tie, her expression tight with annoyance. “We’ve known each other for over a decade. His mother literally saved mine. Taking care of him is the least I can do.” “And what about me?” She had looked at me then as if I were a petulant child. “You’re already my fiancé, Wesley. What is there left to fight over?” In that moment, I told her: “If you don’t take me on your next flight, we are done.” She had stayed quiet for a long time before finally agreeing. But now I realized it wasn’t a compromise. It was just a different way to humiliate me. My phone vibrated relentlessly. It was Garrett. The second I picked up, his voice boomed with anger. “Wesley! Did Charlotte seriously ditch you at the gate again? I just saw Elliot’s Instagram post!” He texted me the screenshot. A bright blue sky, soft clouds, and the cockpit door. Elliot was standing there in a cream-colored cashmere sweater, holding a mug of coffee, smiling softly. His caption read: She told me that on a seven-day flight, she’d show me seven different sunrises. In the corner of the frame, Charlotte’s hand was visible resting on the doorframe. On her ring finger was the diamond engagement ring I had spent months choosing. Garrett’s voice shook with rage. “Is she out of her mind? Flying her childhood sweetheart across the Atlantic for a week while hiding her own fiancé’s passport?” I stared at the photo. No tears came. I slid my finger along my ring finger, pulling off the band Charlotte had given me. Engraved on the inside were two initials: W & C. At the time, I’d joked that it was a bit cheesy. But she had kissed me, murmuring, “Cheesy is good. That way, everyone knows you belong to me.” Now, looking at it, it was just pathetic. The doorbell rang. I opened it to find the Croft family chauffeur standing on the porch, holding a garment bag from the high-end bridal boutique downtown. “Mr. Croft asked me to drop this off, Wesley.” He handed it over, adding quietly, “He said to remind you that the fitting is in seven days. Please don’t wander off. Captain Croft doesn’t like having to look for people when she gets back.” The zipper of the garment bag was slightly open. A faint trace of lily of the valley drifted out. Seeing my hesitation, the driver looked uncomfortable. “Mr. Croft also mentioned… Elliot is about your size, so he tried it on first to make sure the shoulders were right. He hoped you wouldn’t mind.” Outside, a car horn honked, the sudden noise shaking the dust motes in the quiet room. I took the bag. As the driver turned to leave, I spoke in a flat, even voice. “Please tell Mr. Croft there’s no need for a fitting.” The driver froze. I dropped my engagement ring into the front pocket of the garment bag and zipped it shut. “Return this to his daughter as well.” The driver opened his mouth to say something, but I closed the door, sealing him out. I was completely alone in the house now. The wind caught a corner of the white sheet on the piano, exposing a few yellowed keys. My phone screen lit up with another notification. Elliot had posted again. Day one. Safe takeoff. I tapped the screen and saved the photo. 3. Charlotte landed sixteen hours later. By then, I was at the old house, sorting through my documents. Since I couldn’t find my passport folder, I went to the government office to report it lost. “Did you lose your driver’s license too?” the clerk asked. I shook my head. My license had been tucked behind my phone case. Charlotte knew that habit of mine, but she had apparently forgotten that tiny detail when she cleaned out my drawer. She had taken my passport, my global entry card, my airline loyalty card, and the companion lounge pass she’d custom-made for me. I’d always kept that pass pristine, wanting to use it for the first time on one of her flights. Where those cards were now didn’t matter anymore. Just as I finished the paperwork, my phone rang. Her name flashed across the screen. I stared at it for three seconds before sliding to answer. Her voice held the scratchy fatigue of a transatlantic flight, but it carried her usual, unshakable authority. “What is the meaning of the ring?” In the background, airport announcements drifted through the line. Then came Elliot’s voice, soft and pleading. “Charlotte, can you grab my jacket for me?” “Sure,” Charlotte replied off-mic. Then, she spoke back into the phone. “Wesley, stop being dramatic. Take the ring back. We’re doing the fitting.” I folded the receipt for my new passport and slipped it into my coat pocket. “I’m not doing the fitting.” The line went dead silent for a beat. Her voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. “Are you threatening to call off the wedding again?” “Yes.” Charlotte let out a dry laugh. It was quiet, as if she’d heard something utterly ridiculous. “Where are you going to go, Wesley? Your family is gone. My mother was the one who cleared your parents’ debts after the business collapsed.” A cold weight pressed against my chest. After my parents died, their company went under, and the Crofts indeed helped settle some of the creditors. But in return, they took the two most valuable commercial properties my family owned. Every time we argued, her father threw that in my face. And now, Charlotte had learned to do the exact same thing. “When I get back,” she added, “don’t make me come searching for you at your old place.” “You won’t have to.” On her end, Elliot chimed in, his voice clear enough to hear. “Charlotte, is Wesley mad? Maybe I should just fly back early. I don’t need to stay for the next six days.” Charlotte’s tone instantly softened. “It’s not your fault, Elliot.” When she spoke back to me, the warmth vanished. “Did you hear that? Even he is more mature than you.” The glass of the office window reflected my face—pale, entirely blank. “Charlotte, I don’t need him to hand me his scraps.” Silence. Then, her sigh came through, heavy and deeply annoyed. “Then what do you want?” Once upon a time, I wanted so much. I wanted her to remember our anniversaries. I wanted her to sit down for dinner with me. I wanted her to stop taking Elliot’s midnight calls right in front of me. Slowly, those desires had shrunk until all I wanted was to fly on her plane just once. Now, I didn’t even want that. I gripped the paper receipt tightly, the sharp edge slicing into my thumb. “I want to call off the wedding.” Her breathing turned heavy, ragged. “Say that again.” “Number forty-two,” the clerk called out. I grabbed my bag and stood up. “Charlotte, the separation agreement will be delivered to your office.” A cold, sharp chuckle vibrated through the phone. “Wesley, you’d better not regret this.” The line went dead. After finishing up, I walked out to find Garrett waiting by his car. He noticed the tiny cut on my thumb, his forehead creasing with concern. “Does it hurt?” I shook my head. He threw his car keys into my hand. “I’ve already contacted a lawyer. We can catalog everything in that townhouse. The medical bills you paid for her dad, the lease on her sister’s car, the business favors you did for the Crofts over the years—we’re going to tally every single cent.” I unzipped my bag. Resting inside was an old digital camera—one my mother had left behind. Inside was a memory card filled with documents, emails, and photos from all the events I’d managed for the Crofts: the engagement dinner, the PR crisis I managed for her sister, the business dinners I hosted. I had once kept these as proof of my dedication to her family. Now, they were a ledger of debts. Garrett parked the car outside Charlotte’s townhouse. The lights upstairs were on. On my phone, Elliot’s feed refreshed. Stop number two. Charlotte says the night view here is perfect for forgetting all your worries. I stared at the caption, stepped out of the car, and pressed the elevator button. When the doors opened to the penthouse, Richard Croft was standing in the foyer, holding the diamond engagement ring in his hand. 4. Richard’s face darkened the moment he saw me. “Wesley. You actually decided to show your face?” Charlotte’s sister, Sasha, was lounging on the sofa in the living room. The garment bag sat open on the coffee table, and my wedding suit—clinging to the scent of Elliot’s cologne—lay discarded on the cushions. Sasha looked up, a mocking smirk playing on her lips. “Come on, Wesley, stop being so sensitive. You know what kind of catch my sister is. Elliot was her childhood sweetheart. If he actually wanted to marry her, you wouldn’t even be in the picture.” Richard slammed the ring onto the glass table. “Put it back on. The invitations are already out. You calling things off now is just a cheap attempt to humiliate Charlotte.” The glare from the crystal chandelier made my eyes ache. It was in this very room that we had planned our engagement party. Charlotte had sat right next to me, holding my hand, telling her family: “Wesley is quiet. From now on, I’ll handle the family drama so he doesn’t have to.” But eventually, all of the Croft family drama fell squarely on my shoulders. While she was flying, I was the one taking Richard to his medical checkups. While she was networking, I was the one paying off lawyers to resolve Sasha’s DUI. When she forgot family dinners, I was the one smoothing things over. Somewhere along the line, the person taking the hits had become me. “Elliot is fragile,” Richard continued, pacing the floor. “What’s wrong with him flying with Charlotte for a few days? You’re the official fiancé. Don’t be so petty.” Sasha chimed in, “Yeah, Wesley. If you walk away now, our family loses big. Who else would have cleared your family’s pathetic debts back then?” I pulled a manila folder from my bag and placed it on the coffee table. “This is the legal agreement to dissolve our engagement.” Richard froze. The smirk vanished from Sasha’s face. “The wedding is off,” I said quietly. “The deposits will be refunded. This place belongs to Charlotte. I’m only taking my personal belongings today.” Richard lunged forward, slamming his hand down. “You wouldn’t dare!” Right then, his phone rang. Richard glanced at the screen and swiped answer, his voice instantly shifting to a frantic pitch. “Charlotte! You need to deal with Wesley. He’s here with some legal papers, throwing a tantrum!” He pressed the speaker button. Charlotte’s voice filled the room, cold and utterly exhausted. “Wesley, do you really have to cause a scene while I’m on duty?” I looked at the suit on the sofa. “Your flights have nothing to do with me anymore.” The line went quiet for a second, then her voice hardened. “Take those papers back. I will deal with you when I get home.” “I’ve already signed them.” The sound of a chair scraping back echoed through the phone. Then, Elliot’s panicked voice floated over. “Charlotte, sit down. You just landed, you need to rest.” Richard glared at me triumphantly. “Hear that? Elliot actually cares about her health. All you do is pressure her!” Charlotte exhaled slowly, trying to keep her temper. “Wesley, don’t make me lose respect for you.” I bent down and pulled a few old photo albums from the cabinet beside the TV. On the cover of the first album was a photo of us at an airshow. She had placed her captain’s hat on my head, both of us laughing. On the back, she had written in her neat cursive: My Wesley. You’re going to be on every single flight I command. Sasha snatched the album out of my hand, flipping through a couple of pages. “You actually want to keep this junk?” Before I could react, she tossed the album straight into the recycling bin next to the desk. The binder split, and loose photos scattered across the floor. Richard didn’t stop her. On the other end of the line, Charlotte remained silent. In the quiet room, Elliot’s soft voice drifted from the speaker. “Wesley is probably just upset, Charlotte. Don’t be too hard on him.” Charlotte finally spoke, her voice flat. “Let him pick them up.” Three words. A verdict. I crouched down. Our smiling faces were now smudged with dust and a splash of spilled coffee. Just as my fingers brushed the bottom photo, a loud knock sounded at the front door. The chauffeur was standing there, out of breath. “Mr. Croft, Captain Croft asked me to bring this back.” He handed over a black leather folder. “She said Wesley is always losing his things, so she kept it safe for him. But since he’s making a fuss, I should return it.” Richard took the folder and tossed it carelessly at my feet. “Take your things. Don’t go around telling people we held your passport hostage.” The folder hit the hardwood floor, and my passport slid out. There was a noticeable crease on the leather cover. I picked it up, my thumb running over the dent. She had known all along. She knew I wasn’t just late, that I wasn’t throwing a tantrum. She knew exactly why I was stuck outside security, unable to board. She knew why her plane had left without me. Through the speaker, Charlotte’s voice was perfectly calm. “Wesley, once you’re done cleaning up, go to the room and calm down. The wedding is still on in seven days.” I picked up the last photograph from the floor. Slowly, I looked at the phone glowing on the coffee table. The separation agreement in my hand was only missing her signature.
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