Chapter 3

Over the next two days, I gave away everything I'd brought into the house.

The stand mixer went to the young couple who'd just moved in downstairs. The balcony plant stand went to the community center. The kitchen dinnerware set, barely ever used, was donated to a charity shop.

When Ethan came back, he scanned the noticeably emptier living room and said only, "Place feels a lot quieter lately."

He didn't ask what was missing.

Friday morning, he told me over coffee that he'd be going to Skyler's solo flight celebration dinner that evening.

"You're coming too."

I looked at him.

"Why would I go?"

"You've always said I never introduce you to anyone in the flying community. Everyone will be there. Come sit with us."

His tone was even, as if he were finally granting me an opportunity.

Whenever I'd wanted to go to club gatherings with him before, he'd said I'd been away from flying too long and wouldn't understand the conversation.

Now he was offering to bring me along, and it was for another woman's solo flight.

"Fine," I said.

The dinner was at a steakhouse near the airport.

By the time we arrived, the private room was already full.

Skyler sat at the head of the table in a light blue dress, the wings pin I'd seen in the flight bag fastened to her chest.

Under the lights, its metal edges gleamed.

"Ethan!"

She stood and came over with a smile.

"You actually brought Nora."

She turned to me, her tone warm and without a trace of hostility.

"I've been wanting to meet you. He always says you don't like airports, that you get dizzy as soon as you walk in, and that you don't like hearing us talk about flying. I thought you'd never come."

I glanced at Ethan.

His expression didn't change. He just pulled out a chair for me.

"Sit down. Don't just stand there."

The conversation over dinner revolved around Skyler's solo flight.

Someone raised a glass and laughed. "Lark really lucked out. Last month during a lesson, they ran into low clouds out of nowhere. If Ethan hadn't been in the right seat, she probably would've been in tears."

Skyler laughed too.

"My hands were completely frozen. He kept telling me to look at him, said it was fine, just do what he said. I didn't dare breathe until we broke through the clouds."

Others at the table chimed in, saying Ethan was more patient with students than the actual instructors.

Ethan didn't deny it. He just said lightly, "She handled it well that day."

My hand around the glass slowly went cold.

I remembered the date of that lesson last month.

Because that same evening, I lost the baby. Eight weeks along.

That afternoon, I'd been hit with sudden abdominal pain at home.

At first it was just a dull ache, and I thought resting would help. Half an hour later, blood was running down my legs. I called Ethan three times.

No answer.

I called a car to the ER by myself.

After reviewing the results, the doctor told me the embryo had stopped developing. I needed an emergency D&C.

On the surgical consent form, I stared at the emergency contact line for a long time.

In the end, I wrote my own name.

At three in the morning, Ethan finally called back.

I was lying in the recovery room as the anesthesia wore off, and my voice was still trembling.

The first thing he said was, "Why can't you ever take care of yourself?"

I told him I was in the hospital.

He was silent for two seconds. Then he said he'd just taken Skyler through a low cloud layer and had his phone on silent.

Then he added, "Next time, give me a heads-up. Stop waiting until I'm at my busiest."

I didn't tell him about the baby.

In that moment, I suddenly didn't know where to begin.

The laughter at the table pulled me back.

Skyler asked me sincerely, "Have you really never flown in a small plane? Ethan said you get airsick whenever you get in one. Honestly, everyone feels that way the first time. It gets better after a few tries."

I could tell she was trying to reassure me.

I set down my glass.

"Before I even met Ethan, I already had my student pilot certificate."

Skyler froze.

The table went silent.

"I completed pre-solo training. I don't get dizzy at airports, and I do like flying."

I looked at Ethan.

"It's just that someone told me the family didn't need two pilots."

Ethan's jaw clenched.

"Nora, this isn't the time or place."

"You're right."

I nodded.

"The family didn't need two pilots. But somewhere else could use one."

His eyes finally darkened.

I picked up my bag. As I passed him, I lowered my voice. "And one more thing. The night you were taking her through the clouds, I was at the hospital signing a surgical consent form that didn't need your signature."

He turned to look at me.

"What do you mean?"

"You'll find out."

I walked toward the door.

Ethan didn't follow. He didn't raise his voice.

He only spoke, low and controlled, as I pulled the door open. "Walking out now is only going to make everyone think you're embarrassing yourself over personal drama."

I looked back at him.

"Then let them."

I pushed through the door and left.

Behind me, Ethan's steady voice came almost immediately.

"She's been under a lot of stress lately. Don't mind her. Let's keep eating."

He turned my departure into his magnanimity.

For seven years, he had been very good at that.

The night wind blew from the end of the street. For the first time, I didn't turn back to save his dignity.

That night after Ethan came home, he found an old ER bill tucked away in the corner of the study.

The date was the same night as that flight lesson.

Under the procedure column, it read: dilation and curettage.

He stared at the bill for a long time, then put it back where he found it.

The next morning, he still told himself I was just being emotional.