Waiting for Her at Arrivals
Language: en
I landed at 4:00 AM. The moment my phone regained a signal, a notification from my wife’s Instagram popped up. It was a photo of a man’s back—broad shoulders, tall frame—wheeling a suitcase through a terminal. The caption read: “Mission #37: Airport pickup successful. Home safe and sound.” The timestamp was 3:30 AM. At 3:30 AM, I had been thirty thousand feet in the air. The plane had hit a pocket of severe turbulence so violent that the oxygen masks had dropped from the ceiling. People were screaming. I was gripping my armrests so hard my knuckles were white, my hands shaking too badly…