Chapter 6 - The Weight of a Uniform
“Sarah...?” Tyler whispered, the syllables catching in his throat like dry sandpaper as his hands dropped away from Chloe’s shoulders.
The color drained from his face so fast it left him looking almost ghostly under the harsh fluorescent glare of the baggage claim area. Chloe blinked, her eyes darting between Tyler’s horrified expression and the two of us standing frozen ten feet away. Her smile vanished, replaced by a sudden, nervous tightening around her mouth as she instinctively took a half-step back.
Mason didn't wait. He dropped my hand, his small face hardening with an anger far too old for a seven-year-old, and marched right up to his father.
“You lied,” Mason said, his voice ringing out clear and sharp against the ambient roar of the terminal. “You said you were flying a short trip and coming home for dinner. You lied to us, Dad.”
Tyler looked down at his son, his lips parting, but no sound came out. He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing violently. “Mason... buddy... what—what are you doing here? How did you...?”
“We were on your plane, Tyler,” I cut in, my voice terrifyingly calm as I stepped up beside my son, my eyes locked dead onto my husband’s panicked gaze. “We sat in row twenty-six. We heard every single word you broadcasted across the cabin. Especially the part where you told your little co-pilot here that she was the co-pilot of your heart.”
Chloe flinched visibly, her cheeks burning red as she pulled her flight lanyard down, trying to tuck it out of sight inside her coat. “Tyler, you didn't tell me your wife and kid were—you said you were separated!”
“She is my wife,” Tyler stammered, his eyes darting frantically between Chloe and me, the smooth, confident pilot completely dissolved into a pathetic, cornered coward. “Sarah, please, let’s just... let’s not do this here. Let’s go get a coffee, let’s talk—this isn't what it looks like—”
“Save it, Tyler,” I snapped, stepping closer, refusing to let him wiggle out of the trap he had built for himself. “The time for talking was before you used a federal aviation loudspeaker to humiliate your family at thirty thousand feet.”
Before Tyler could scramble for another excuse, a sharp, authoritative voice cut through the air behind us.
“Captain Mercer? We need a word.”
May you like
Two uniformed airport security officers and an airline station manager were striding purposefully toward our group, their expressions grim and unyielding.
---
