I tried to reassure myself that a different plane simply meant a different shape of the cabin, nothing more.
“It will be the same sky,” I said to the quiet room.
I walked down the narrow hallway to Emma’s bedroom and pushed the door open an inch.
The streetlamp outside cast long, pale bars of light across her wallpaper. Emma was fast asleep, her breathing slow and regular. She was curled on her side, holding the plush airplane Buzz tight against her chest.
I stepped inside, my bare feet silent on the rug.
Two of her puffy cloud stickers had fallen off the sheet and lay on the nightstand. I picked them up and stuck them to the back of my phone, where they would not get lost.
Looking at her small face, I felt the familiar weight of the secret I kept every single day. I was terrified that I could not handle this life alone, that without David, I was just an imposter pretending to be strong enough to raise her.
I bent down to pull the pink blanket over her shoulders, my fingers brushing her cheek.
She stirred slightly, mumbling something about the sky, but she did not wake.
I stood in the doorway for a long time, watching her chest rise and fall.
“We are going to be fine,” I whispered, though there was nobody in the dark hallway to hear me.
I closed the door softly and walked back to the quiet kitchen.
The silence of the house felt heavier at night, a reminder of the empty chair at the dining table and the lack of another adult voice to share the burden of these small, creeping worries. I had nobody to tell me that everything would be fine, or that I was worrying over nothing.
I touched the silver band on my finger again, wishing I could ask David what he would do. He had always been the one to handle the logistics, the one who stood in lines and talked to gate agents while I kept Emma calm.
