She was charming, funny, and she was going to the same city as me. We laughed about this and that until she took out her phone to show me the man she was going to meet. That’s when my world changed.
The apartment was bathed in that hushed, late-morning calm that I usually loved, the kind that settles in when Michael leaves on a trip and the door slams behind him.
I closed the small suitcase that was on the bed and took one last look at the framed photo on his desk. The three of us were by the lake, his hand on my shoulder, the small scratch on his wedding band reflecting the sunlight.
I straightened the frame as I always did.
« He’s going to go crazy when he sees me there, » I said aloud, without addressing anyone in particular.
I imagined her face in the hotel lobby. Me, holding two coffees as if I had just arrived after a morning like any other.
Those three days of separation had turned into three weeks of short distances, and I wanted to bridge that gap before it became something else.
At the boarding gate, I hesitated once.
« You almost didn’t come, » I murmured, tightening the strap of my bag. Then I boarded anyway.
I was sitting by the window. The woman next to me looked up from her phone and smiled at me, a big, relaxed smile, as if she had already decided to like me.
« Oh, thank goodness, » she said, laughing. « I’m glad a nice person ended up sitting next to me. »
« Is it often this horrible? »
« You have no idea. Last month, I was sitting next to a man who cut his nails the entire flight. »
I laughed before I could even stop myself.
« My name is Patrice, » she said, extending her hand to me. « I know, I know. My mother wanted a boy. »
« Anna. »
« Anna. That’s pretty. »
The plane left the gate, and I felt something inside me dissolve. She had that little something that some people are born with, the kind of thing that makes three hours fly by in a single conversation.
We talked about work.
She worked in marketing. I told her I was a freelance graphic designer, and that I mostly worked from home.
« Married? » she asked, glancing at my ring.
« Eight years. »
« Wow. Eight good years or eight years of survival? »
« The good ones, » I replied, then, quite honestly: « More like the good ones. He travels a lot for his job. It’s been a bit tough lately. »
« I understand. » She took a sip of water. « Distance is a different story. »
« And you, are you married? »
She hesitated, just for a moment.
« No. Actually, I’m flying to meet someone. »
« A friend? »
Her smile changed. It didn’t leave her face, but it faded a little, as if she had just remembered that she was talking to a stranger.
« It’s complicated. »
On the other side of the porthole, the clouds were beginning to dissipate, and a strip of the city stretched far below, tiny and orderly. I thought of Michael in his hotel, probably in a session, probably not checking his phone.
« Complicated how? » I asked more gently.
She twirled the water bottle between her hands.
« He’s a good man, » she said. « That’s the short version. The long version is longer. »
« That’s often the case. »
She laughed softly. « It sounds like you already know the long version. »
« I’ve had my share of extended versions from friends. »
For a moment, she simply looked at me, as if she were making a decision. Then she grabbed her handbag and placed it on her lap, without opening it for the time being.
« Can I tell you something honestly, Anna? »
» Of course. «
« I don’t usually talk about him. But there’s something about you. » She smiled again, more discreetly this time. « We feel safe with you. »
I felt a slight, unusual tingling in the back of my neck, although I couldn’t have said why.
« Tell me, » I said.
Patrice hesitated, tapping the edge of his phone with his fingertips. Then she shrugged slightly, looking guilty.
« Okay, fine. He’s married. But it’s practically over. »
I kept smiling, as I always did when something inside me began to listen, silent and vigilant.
« It’s practically over, » I repeated.
« They haven’t really been together for a long time, » she said. « He told me she’s more of a burden now. He continues to support her financially, out of guilt. »
« That’s kind of him, » I said, and those words had a strange taste in them.
Patrice didn’t notice the hint of bitterness in my voice. She continued, becoming animated on this subject, as one does when carrying a burden alone for too long.
« He travels constantly for work. Business trips are the only time we can really see each other. »
« Where are you going to find him? »
She gave me the name of the city.
My city, this weekend. The one where my husband was supposed to give his opening speech tomorrow morning.
« What a coincidence, » I said cautiously. « I’ll go too. »
« It’s a small world, » she said, laughing. « Which hotel are you staying at? »
I told him.
Her laughter stopped mid-sentence. For half a second, her face froze, then she recovered, a little too quickly.
« That’s… Wow. What a coincidence! »
« What a coincidence? » I repeated.
I turned towards the window because I didn’t trust my own face. Below us, the clouds looked solid enough to walk on. I thought there were a dozen hotels where a conference could be held. I thought that unfaithful men were commonplace, that rings could get damaged, and that coincidences happened.
I thought a lot of things in the space of 30 seconds.
« Can I show you something? » Patrice said in a low voice.
I turned around. She had taken out her phone, her thumb suspended above a file.
« I’ve never shown this to anyone, » she said. « But I need to. Just to someone. Is that okay with you? »
» Show me. «
She scrolled through the photos. Photo after photo of her and a man, most framed just below her eyes, or from behind, or taken from an angle where her face was in shadow. Restaurants I didn’t know. Hotel balconies. A hand around a glass of wine.
« He values his privacy, » she explained to me. « Because of the divorce. »
» Of course. «
« This is my favorite, » she said, pausing on an image showing two hands resting on a white tablecloth. Hers, small and pale. Hers, larger and familiar, resting near a cup of coffee.
She zoomed in. Not on his face.
On the ring.
A thin, diagonal scratch on the top. The one he got the afternoon he repaired our niece’s bike chain, the one I teased him about for a week.
The noise from the cabin faded away. I could hear my own pulse in my ears, regular and too loud.
Patrice was looking at me now. I felt his gaze before I could even bring myself to look up.
« Are you okay? » she asked me.
» Yes. «
« You’ve turned completely pale. »
« It’s okay. It’s just… motion sickness. Sometimes, on a plane. »
She didn’t believe it. Her gaze traveled across my face, then down to my left hand resting on the armrest, where it lingered. My ring reflected the light from the ceiling. Plain gold.
She looked at her screen. Then at my hand. Then back at the screen, more slowly this time. A matching pair. The same jeweler’s weight, the same soft bevel, both of them.
Her lips parted slightly.
« Oh, » she said. Very softly. « Oh no. »
» What ? «
« Your ring. »
« What is it? »
« It matches, » she murmured. « Not just that. It matches hers. They’re a pair. »
She looked at her phone again. Then she looked at me. Then she looked at her phone again, her thumb moving now, scrolling to something else, somewhere with more urgency.
« You know him, » she said. It was no longer a question. « You know him too. Don’t you? »
I didn’t reply.
She put a hand to her mouth.
« Please tell me you’re his sister. »
« I am not his sister. »
« Please tell me you’re a colleague. »
« I am not a colleague. »
Her eyes quickly filled with tears, and she blinked to hold them back. She glanced around the cabin, as if she had just remembered that we were surrounded by strangers, then leaned towards me, her voice reduced to a whisper.
« He told me she was his ex-wife. He said they had moved on. That’s what he said. »
She stopped.
« He said you were his ex-wife! »
« He never showed me your face. He showed me a family photo once, on his laptop. A woman with your hair. Who was wearing the exact same ring. He said it was an old photo. He said he kept it out of guilt. »
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