The woman who dropped her flowers was still holding her husband.
I hated her for one awful second.
Then I hated myself.
One of my girls kicked under her blanket.
I tucked it around her and wondered how I could be somebody’s mother while feeling so much like a frightened child.
Then someone touched my shoulder.
My heart leaped.
Jeremy?
I turned, already smiling.
But it wasn’t him.
A soldier stood behind me.
Dress uniform.
No suitcase.
“Are you Jeremy’s wife?”
“Yes. Where is he?”
His throat moved.
“He’s not coming.”
I laughed.
It came out wrong.
“What?”
“He was never on that flight. You should go home immediately.”
I stared at him.
“Is my husband dead?”
The soldier’s expression changed.
“No, ma’am.”
