The Child’s Words
A few days later, James announced a trip to a neighboring city for an industry conference, returning Sunday night. "Perfect timing," I thought. "We can take Amy to the new playground Sunday." He nodded, kissed my forehead. "Sounds good. See you Sunday." He left with his suitcase. The house felt hollow. Saturday afternoon, pushing Amy on the swing at the park, she giggled, soaring high.
Suddenly, she craned her little braids toward me. "Mommy! Daddy said he’s taking me for ice cream tomorrow! He said he’s coming home soon!" My hands froze on the swing chains. "Amy, Daddy’s not back until tomorrow night ," I kept my voice calm. "No, no!" she shook her head. "Daddy called me! He said, 'Sweetie, Daddy’s coming home tomorrow to play!'" Her imitation was perfect. Ice shot through my veins. He said Sunday. Amy said tomorrow (Friday). Who lied? Or perhaps… to whom had he lied?
The Flight’s Truth
That night, Amy asleep, I sat on the rug beside her bed in the dim streetlight glow. James had a flight tracker app. I knew his login. We used to share itineraries for pickups. Lately, I’d stopped checking.
My palms were slick, fingers icy. Trembling, I opened the app, entered his details. Login successful. The latest trip: round trip to the neighboring city. Outbound flight—correct. Return… booked for Sunday night—correct. But below, starkly clear: [Flight Changed] . New departure time: Friday afternoon, the day before the original flight. He had changed it. Coming back Friday. He hadn’t told me. He had lied.
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A few days later, James announced a trip to a neighboring city for an industry conference, returning Sunday night. "Perfect timing," I thought. "We can take Amy to the new playground Sunday." He nodded, kissed my forehead. "Sounds good. See you Sunday." He left with his suitcase. The house felt hollow. Saturday afternoon, pushing Amy on the swing at the park, she giggled, soaring high.
Suddenly, she craned her little braids toward me. "Mommy! Daddy said he’s taking me for ice cream tomorrow! He said he’s coming home soon!" My hands froze on the swing chains. "Amy, Daddy’s not back until tomorrow night ," I kept my voice calm. "No, no!" she shook her head. "Daddy called me! He said, 'Sweetie, Daddy’s coming home tomorrow to play!'" Her imitation was perfect. Ice shot through my veins. He said Sunday. Amy said tomorrow (Friday). Who lied? Or perhaps… to whom had he lied?
The Flight’s Truth
That night, Amy asleep, I sat on the rug beside her bed in the dim streetlight glow. James had a flight tracker app. I knew his login. We used to share itineraries for pickups. Lately, I’d stopped checking.
My palms were slick, fingers icy. Trembling, I opened the app, entered his details. Login successful. The latest trip: round trip to the neighboring city. Outbound flight—correct. Return… booked for Sunday night—correct. But below, starkly clear: [Flight Changed] . New departure time: Friday afternoon, the day before the original flight. He had changed it. Coming back Friday. He hadn’t told me. He had lied.
NEXT >>
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