I almost smiled.
He leaned slightly closer.
“But someone is trying to locate you, and you’re carrying a sleeping child, two bags, and a stroller. At minimum, let me get you safely out of the airport.”
I hesitated.
My old instincts told me to decline.
For years, I had become very good at declining things.
Help.
Concern.
Questions.
Invitations.
Anything that might eventually require an explanation of my marriage.
But there was a difference between independence and isolation.
I was beginning to understand that.
“All right,” I said. “Just out of the airport.”
“Just out of the airport.”
The private exit turned out to be far less glamorous than I expected.
There was no red carpet.
No line of black SUVs surrounded by men wearing sunglasses.
Just a quiet service corridor, a concrete stairwell, and a security employee who looked as if he had skipped lunch.
Two men waited at
