Chapter 4 — In-Flight Encounters

Claire

The plane smelled faintly of recycled air and the metallic tang of coffee brewing somewhere up front. I sank into my seat, the faux leather groaning beneath me, and stared out the small oval window, watching the tarmac blur as tears pricked my eyes. My carry-on bag sat awkwardly at my feet, stuffed with hastily packed clothes and a notebook I hadn’t opened since college. I had no plan, no idea what I was doing—just a one-way ticket to Paris and a simmering cocktail of rage, humiliation, and desperation.