I thought the only turbulence we’d face would be up in the sky, not inside our marriage. One minute we were getting on the plane with diaper bags and our twin babies—the next, I was stuck dealing with everything while my husband slipped away behind a curtain… right into business class.
You know that feeling when you sense your partner is about to pull something crazy, but your mind refuses to accept it? That was me, standing at the gate in Terminal C, baby wipes poking out of my pocket, one twin strapped to my chest, the other gnawing on my sunglasses.
This was meant to be our first proper family trip—my husband Mateo, me, and our 18-month-old twins, Willow and Samuel. We were flying to Florida to see his parents, who live in one of those colorful retirement neighborhoods near Tampa.
His dad had been counting down the days to finally meet his grandchildren in person. He calls so often that Samuel now says “Papa” to every older man with white hair.
