I didn’t cry. Not where they could see. I sat down in a row of cold metal chairs, breathing slowly, staring at the departure board like it might tell me who I was supposed to be.
Then I did the one thing I’d promised myself I’d never do again.
I called my father.
The “absent” one. The irresponsible one. The man my mother described like a cautionary tale.
Ethan answered on the second ring.
“Yes?”
“It’s me,” I said. My voice sounded small even to me. “She left me here.”
There was silence—not confusion. Control.
“Stay there,” he said.
“How—?”
“Don’t move. Send me your location. Now.”
I did.
For thirty minutes I sat there, hollow. If he didn’t come, I would officially belong to no one.
Then the airport energy shifted. Staff moving quickly. A black SUV with special clearance pulling up near a restricted entrance. A man with an earpiece asking for my name.
“Are you Lily?” he asked.
I nodded.
“Come with me.”
He led me through a side corridor, away from the crowds. Through a large window I saw it: a private jet descending onto the runway.
My knees nearly gave out—not because of the luxury, but because of what it meant. My father had rearranged his world in half an hour.