Laura
The airport was buzzing with life, a mix of hurried footsteps, rolling suitcases, and the muffled announcements echoing overhead. I stood near the arrivals gate at O’Hare, shifting my weight from one foot to another, my fingers wrapped around a cup of lukewarm coffee.
It had been two months since my divorce, and life had settled into something resembling peace. The past felt like a bad dream I had finally woken up from, and each day in Chicago felt lighter, easier. Mrs. Abigail had adapted well, taking care of the kids as if nothing had changed, and the twins were thriving in preschool. My new job at Northwestern had its challenges, but I relished them—it felt good to be back in a hospital, surrounded by purpose.
The voice in my head that used to whisper his name, the anticipation
