ISABELLA
Airports were supposed to be exciting, full of possibilities. People rushing toward new adventures, long-awaited reunions, fresh starts. But as I stood in the middle of the crowded terminal, gripping the handle of my son’s stroller, all I felt was resentment.
"You're unbelievable," I muttered under my breath.
Christian, walking beside me, barely glanced my way. "Isa, not here," he said, his voice low and measured.
Not here. As if that made a difference. As if I could shove my anger into a neat little box and pretend that I wasn’t being forced onto a plane for a honeymoon I never agreed to.
I stopped abruptly, forcing him to halt as well. Nova, oblivious in his stroller, kicked his legs against the footrest, clutching his stuffed rabbit.
I turned to face Christian. "Tell me
