He reached for my wrist instinctively, but the moment his fingers touched my skin, he pulled back as if burned.
The jewelry box slipped from his hand and clattered against the door frame.
I walked past him, pulling my suitcase out the door.
At the airport security checkpoint, people streamed past in both directions.
Julian stood in the crowd, his tie crooked, his hair disheveled, his eyes fixed on me.
"Vera, you saw me, didn't you?"
I didn't answer.
The first time I traveled abroad, he had printed out the route three days in advance and circled every transfer point. At the gate, I was so nervous my palms were sweating. He took my hand.
"Don't look out the window. Just look at me."
So I looked at him for eight years.
In the end, I saw him standing beside another woman in a groom's
