I smiled, even joked about him finally missing my cooking. Everything felt ordinary. Too ordinary.

I drove him to the airport just like I always did. The morning sun reflected off the glass walls of the terminal, travelers rushing in every direction. Daniel thanked me again, squeezed my hand, and walked inside without looking back.

As I was about to start the engine, Noah tugged at my sleeve from the back seat. His voice was barely louder than a breath.
“Mom… you should watch Dad.”

I turned around, startled. “What do you mean, sweetheart?”

He shrugged, eyes fixed on the terminal entrance. “I don’t know. Just… watch him.”

Children say strange things. I knew that. But something in his tone—quiet, serious—made my chest tighten. I told him to buckle up and wait. I didn’t start the car.

I watched the automatic doors.

A few minutes passed. Then Daniel appeared again.

My heart skipped—maybe he forgot something? But instead of heading toward the departure gates, he walked straight outside, scanned the area, and climbed into a yellow taxi waiting near the curb.