The line went dead.
She hadn’t even said thank you.
I sat back in my chair, looking at my phone’s blank screen.
Two o’clock. Flight 447. Baggage claim, carousel three.
I glanced at the wall clock above my sink.
10:52 a.m.
Plenty of time.
I poured myself another cup of coffee, added an extra spoonful of sugar, and opened yesterday’s newspaper to the crossword puzzle I hadn’t finished.
Seven across: delayed gratification.
Twelve letters.
The answer would come to me eventually.
Part Six: The Airport Trap
At 2:15 p.m., I was settling into my favorite armchair with a fresh cup of Earl Grey and the Sunday edition of the Spokane Review.
The crossword from yesterday lay completed on my coffee table.
Delayed gratification had been “postponement.”
My phone buzzed against the wooden surface.
Isabella’s name again.
I let it ring.
The December sun slanted through my living room windows, warming the space where I’d spent so many lonely evenings counting the cost of my generosity.
Today, the silence felt different.
Earned.
Intentional.
2:47 p.m.
The phone buzzed again.
This time, I could see the preview of her text.
Dad, where are you? My parents are—
I turned the phone face‑down and returned to the sports section.
The Seahawks had lost again.
Some things never changed.
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