Massachusetts.
Beside me, Sophie fell asleep with her head against my arm.
Across the aisle, Curtis listened to music.
I looked at my children and felt foolish for worrying.
Rebecca was my wife.
The mother of those two people.
We had survived newborn exhaustion.
Mortgage stress.
Job changes.
My father’s heart surgery.
Her mother’s death.
Curtis breaking his wrist.
Sophie needing her tonsils removed.
A marriage with that much history should not feel threatened because someone had not answered a phone for twenty-four hours.
I believed that.
I needed to believe it.
We landed after seven.
By the time we collected luggage and got a rental car, it was nearly eight.
The rental counter had our reservation under the wrong middle initial.
Sophie needed a bathroom.
Curtis wanted food.
Traffic around the airport moved like people were being paid to frustrate me personally.
Normal travel problems.
I welcomed them because they gave my mind something concrete to solve.
“Dad.”
Sophie said from the back seat.
“I’m starving.”
“Me too.”
Curtis added.
I looked at the navigation screen.
“Hotel first.”
“Then we’ll get Mom and eat.”
“Can we order room service?”
Sophie asked.
“If Mom wants.”
“She always gets Caesar salad.”
Curtis said.
“She gets Caesar salad because hotels make terrible burgers.”
Sophie objected.
“How can a burger be terrible?”
That became the next debate.
I listened.
Answered when required.
Kept checking the phone mounted beside the dashboard.
Nothing from Rebecca.
At 8:46, we pulled beneath the hotel awning.
It was a Marriott near the downtown financial district.
Glass.
Stone.
Warm lobby lighting.
Business travelers with rolling bags.
A conference sign near the elevators.
Sophie's excitement returned immediately.
“Oh my gosh.”
She whispered.
“This is fancy.”
Curtis looked around.
“Mom gets better work trips than you.”
“My company thinks Hampton Inn is luxury.”
I said.
We checked into room 732.
The receptionist was polite.
Efficient.
She did not tell me anything about Rebecca’s stay.
I did not ask.
I already knew room 718 from the itinerary she had sent.
That detail matters.
Hotels protect guest privacy.
At the time I was not thinking about hotel policy.
I was thinking about my wife being fourteen doors away.
In the elevator, Sophie held her handmade card behind her back.
“Are we going now?”
“In a minute.”
“Why not now?”
“Let's put our bags down.”
“But…”
“Sophie.”
She sighed.
“Fine.”
Our room looked like every upscale business hotel room.
Two queen beds.
Desk.
Television.
Abstract art.
View of buildings.
I set the luggage down.
Curtis dropped onto the bed.
Sophie stood by the door.
“Now?”
I looked at the clock.
8:58.
I tried Rebecca one more time.
It rang.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Then voicemail.
Something inside me changed.
Not suspicion becoming certainty.
Just worry becoming impossible to ignore.
I looked at the kids.
“Stay here for five minutes.”
Sophie frowned.
“But the surprise.”
“I’m just going to make sure she's there.”
“I want to come.”
“I know.”
I forced a smile.
“Give me five minutes.”
“We'll all surprise her together after I know she isn't in a meeting.”
Curtis watched me.
He knew.
Maybe not what.
Something.