Chapter 1

Three years ago, my husband refused to delay his private jet for forty minutes, and I lost my last chance to become a mother.

On our fifth anniversary, he delayed his private jet for another woman because she wanted to see the sunset.

I was already seated when Camille finally hurried up the stairs, twenty-five minutes late, three oversized cases following behind her.

“Dominic, I’m sorry. Traffic was awful.”

She was the private cabin attendant Dominic requested for most of his international flights.

Officially, that was all she was. Over the years, Dominic had allowed the role to expand into something closer to a personal travel assistant.

He glanced at his watch.

I expected irritation.

Instead, he took the heaviest case from her hand.

“It’s fine. We weren’t leaving without you.”

My fingers tightened around the armrest.

Three years ago, I had begged him for forty minutes.

It was my final IVF cycle.

My doctor had already warned me that my ovarian reserve was almost gone.

That morning, I needed one last blood test and injection before we flew home.

Weeks of hormone injections had left my lower abdomen covered in small purple bruises.

Each morning, I pressed a fresh needle into skin that had barely healed from the one before.

The night before the flight, I had sat alone beneath the clinic’s fluorescent lights, signing another consent form while holding gauze against the latest puncture mark.

Dominic had been on a conference call.

I asked Dominic to delay the jet.

“Forty minutes,” I had pleaded. “That’s all I need.”

He barely looked up from his laptop.

“The flight plan and crew schedule are already confirmed.”

“The doctor said this may be my last chance.”

“Then we’ll discuss another cycle later.”

There was no later.

I missed the treatment window, and months afterward, my doctor told me I was unlikely to ever retrieve another viable egg.

For three years, I told myself Dominic had only been following the rules.

Now Camille was twenty-five minutes late, and the entire aircraft had waited for her.

The plane finally took off.

Camille moved through the cabin with easy familiarity.

She placed Dominic’s coffee and medication beside him without asking.

“Half a spoon of sugar. And your stomach pills.”

Dominic took them, then noticed her rubbing her hands.

“Raise the cabin temperature two degrees,” he told the crew. “And bring Camille the gray blanket. She gets cold easily.”

Camille smiled.

“You remembered?”

“You nearly passed out on the Geneva flight.”

Three years earlier, I had hidden the bruises beneath my clothes and completed every injection alone.

Now Camille rubbed her hands once, and Dominic noticed immediately.

I looked away.

For years, I had convinced myself Dominic simply wasn’t attentive.

Apparently, he was.

Just not with me.

An hour later, Camille paused by the window.

“The clouds are beautiful today.”

Then she added casually, “If we adjusted the route a little, we could probably catch the sunset over the ridge.”

She wasn’t even asking.

Dominic reached for the intercom.

“Ask the captain if we can reroute.”

A few minutes later, the captain replied.

The change was possible.

It would add approximately forty minutes.

My entire body went still.

Dominic didn’t hesitate.

“Do it.”

The plane began to turn.

I stared at the route shifting on the screen beside my seat.

Forty minutes.

Three years ago, forty minutes had violated schedules, contracts, crew restrictions, and international procedures.

Today, forty minutes were nothing.

“I thought flight plans couldn’t be changed,” I said.

Dominic looked at me.

“That was different.”

“How?”

He frowned, as though the answer should have been obvious.

“It wasn’t impossible, Eleanor. It was inconvenient.”

Inconvenient.

That one word destroyed every excuse I had made for him.

Camille glanced between us.

Then she laughed softly.

“Dominic has always been flexible with routes. Once, when I got sick over Italy, he had the captain change the whole approach for me.”

Dominic’s expression tightened.

“Camille.”

“What?” She smiled. “You always make things work.”

I turned toward the window.

There it was.

The truth I had spent three years refusing to see.

He had always been able to make things work.

He simply had not done it for me.

Outside, the mountains slowly turned gold beneath the sunset.

Camille leaned closer to the window.

“It’s beautiful.”

Dominic smiled.

I felt nothing.

I lost my last chance to become a mother because he would not give me forty minutes.

Camille got those same forty minutes because she wanted a prettier view.

I took out my phone and opened my attorney’s contact.

Prepare the divorce papers.

I pressed send.

Across from me, Dominic was still talking to Camille.

Neither of them noticed.

By the time this plane landed, our fifth anniversary would be over.

So would my marriage.