Now, the silence of the apartment felt like an accusation, a reminder that I had nothing left to offer him.
The morning light was gray and thin when the phone finally rang.
“We are at the terminal,” Ellis said, his voice clipped and rapid, already matching the pace of a board meeting. “Gate B. If you want to say a proper goodbye to your son, you have exactly forty minutes before we clear security.”
“Ellis, please,” I said, but the line was already dead.
I did not take the time to brush my hair, only pulling on my heavy wool coat and grabbing my purse from the counter.
The yellow cab driver did not speak as we crossed the city toward John Glenn International Airport, the tires humming against the cold asphalt. Inside the terminal, the fluorescent lights beat down on the tiled floor with a harsh, relentless glare.
I found them near the entrance to the security line, standing beside three matching leather suitcases that looked too expensive for the dirty floor. Ellis was checking his gold wrist watch, his thumb tapping the bezel twice before he looked up at me.
“You have five minutes, Sabrina,” Ellis said, his eyes scanning the crowd behind me rather than looking at my face. “We have a connection in Charlotte, and I do not intend to miss it.”
Noah stood beside him, his shoulders stiff and square under his blue winter coat, his gaze fixed on a point somewhere near my shoes.
I took two steps toward my son, the cold metal of the security stanchions brushing against my sleeve.
“Noah,” I said, my voice barely carrying over the rumble of the baggage belts behind us.
He did not raise his eyes to meet mine, but his hand reached out and took my sleeve, his fingers gripping the wool so tightly his knuckles turned white.
