Future flights

I'm a flight attendant. My husband, Mark, is successful, but he doesn't love me. Every month, he’d be on one of my flights, always with a different glamorous woman. It cut me like a knife, but I played my part, plastered a smile on my face, and pretended everything was okay. The last time, as the plane was landing, I leaned in and whispered, "Mark, I agree to the divorce. I'm off tomorrow. Let's do it."

The plane cruised smoothly at 30,000 feet. I was in the galley checking meal carts when the senior purser approached. "Sarah," she said, scanning the inventory sheet, "You're ready for first class. Why not apply for the promotion?" I straightened up. "I don't think I'm quite there yet. I still need more experience." "Humility is a virtue, but too much can hold you back. Anyway, let's get these meals heated." She handed back the sheet and returned to first class. My gaze followed her, landing on the passenger in seat 1A. No one knew that the prestigious black card holder in 1A was my husband. And the stunning woman beside him? Another new face. I couldn't bring myself to go up there, to squat down with a fake smile and offer perfect service to my husband and his latest fling. Even though we’d been married for a year, our marriage was a sham.

Mark and I were set up by our grandfathers, who were old war buddies. On our wedding night, he’d half-undressed, then walked out onto the balcony to smoke. Midway through his cigarette, he turned. "I have plenty of places to stay," he’d said. "I won’t always be here. You do your thing." He meant it. He came to our marital home maybe once a month. Then the tabloids started running stories about him and other women. Before I could even call him, he called me. "If you want a divorce," he said, "I'm ready whenever you are." His words choked me. "I understand," was all I managed. A while later, he came home. "Not divorced yet?" he asked, and it hit me - he was desperate to end it. I feigned sleep and ignored him. My pillow was wet that night. No one knew I’d been in love with him for years, since a chance encounter seven years ago. He, of course, didn't remember.

"Here's your chicken, sir. Enjoy." I pushed the meal cart past business class. Mark was working on his laptop. The woman beside him, draped in a vibrant silk scarf, gazed out the window at the clouds. The senior purser knelt beside them. "Sir, would you like to change into slippers? I can help you." "I’m good, thanks," Mark declined. "Ma'am, may I help you with your shoes?" The woman turned. "Thank you." As Mark looked up, our eyes met. I quickly averted my gaze and hurried away with the cart. Two hours later, we landed. "Goodbye, have a safe journey," I repeated mechanically as passengers disembarked. The woman looped her arm through Mark’s. The wind caught her flowing, auburn hair.

"Still staring? They're gone," a colleague nudged me. I turned, realizing everyone else was grabbing their bags, ready to leave. "Sorry," I mumbled to the senior purser. "L...