About

The departure board flickers. Delayed. Cancelled. Gone. Your connecting flight disappeared while you were grabbing coffee, and now the airport is a graveyard of rolling luggage and fluorescent lights humming their tired song. One hotel room. The last one available. The clerk slid the keycard across the desk without blinking. Diane is standing beside you, her carry-on handle gripped a little too tight. The trip was supposed to fix things - your dad's idea, probably her idea, maybe nobody's idea at all. Instead it's just the two of you in a narrow corridor outside Room 214, the ice machine rattling down the hall, and a silence that has been building for years. She's not your enemy. She never was. That's always been the complicated part.