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Show Notes
She was supposed to land tomorrow. David had it all planned—flowers, reservations at Lucia's, the corner booth where they'd had their first date eight years ago.
They'd FaceTimed every night while she was gone, falling asleep with phones propped on pillows like teenagers. Eight years married and still sweethearts. So when the front door opened at 6 PM on Thursday, he wasn't ready.
There she was. Her voice. Her perfume. Her gray travel blazer. Smiling. She was smiling so wide. They ordered Thai. Sat on the couch. Talked about her conference. Normal evening. But she never stopped smiling.
Her lips were cold when she kissed him. Her skin was cold when she pulled him close. And in the morning, when he woke to find her face inches from his, eyes wide open, that smile stretched beyond what muscles should allow—that's when his phone buzzed. Texts from Sarah. Sent all night long. The last one, timestamped twenty minutes ago: Just landed. Can't wait to see you.