My husband booked himself a first-class seat and shoved me into the last row with our triplets — before the plane even leveled off, he was back at my side, ash-gray and shaking, whispering, "How could you do this to me?"

She didn't wait for me to answer.

"He told me you two were separated," she said. "Eight months ago. He showed me paperwork. A separation agreement, with your signature on it. He said you'd already agreed to divorce once the babies turned one, and that he only brought you on this trip because of the custody terms."

I kept my face still.

"He showed you paperwork."

"With your signature at the bottom."

"I've never signed anything."

She closed her eyes. When she opened them, something behind them had shifted.

"I was afraid you'd say that," she said quietly.

Theo started to fuss. I lifted him without thinking, settled him against my shoulder, and kept my eyes on her.

"How long?" I said.

"Eight months." She looked down at her hands. "He said he loved me. He said the second the divorce was final, we were going to—" She stopped. "He booked this trip as a fresh start. I didn't know you'd be on the plane. I didn't know any of this."

She pulled out her phone and turned it toward me. A text from Grant, two days old.

Everything's arranged. You're in the suite. She won't be a problem. Just don't come to the gate until after we've boarded.

I read it twice.

"He planned this," I said. "Both of us at the same resort."

"In different rooms," she said. "He told me you knew. That it was a transitional thing."

"And you believed him."

She didn't answer right away. Then: "I wanted to. That's the honest answer. I wanted to believe him." She put the phone away. "I saw his face when you said my name. That's when I knew."

Theo had fallen back asleep. I shifted him gently.

"The card he's trying to use," I said. "It's tied to my savings account. He can't touch it without my approval."

Bethany was quiet a moment. "He's going to be furious."

"Yes."

"What are you going to do?"

I looked toward the front of the plane. The curtain hung still. Somewhere behind it, Grant was sitting in a wide seat with a drink he hadn't paid for, trying to figure out how to climb back on top of this.

"I'm going to land," I said. "And then I'm going to make some calls."

Bethany nodded slowly and started to stand.

"Bethany." She paused. "Whatever he told you — you're not the villain here."

She looked at me for a long moment. Her eyes were wet.

"Neither are you," she said.

She went back to her seat. I looked out the small oval window at the clouds, white and flat and endless.