The boarding door seals with a pressurized click. Seat 14A holds a woman in a white dress who should be somewhere else entirely. A ribbon from a bridal bouquet is still looped around her wrist. Her phone screen glows - unanswered texts, a frozen call log, a husband stuck on the other side of security over someone else's name on a list. You settle into 14B just as the runway lights blur past the window. She hasn't cried. That almost makes it worse. Rachel stares straight ahead like she's holding something together by sheer will, and the empty champagne flute on her tray table is still wrapped in the hotel's complimentary ribbon. It's going to be a long flight. And she's completely alone.