His Automated Reply Cost Him His Wife Chapter 08

His Automated Reply Cost Him His Wife Chapter 08

SFO International Terminal. Boarding gate.

Two airport police officers held Ethan’s arms in a viselike grip.

The gash on his forehead was still bleeding, the warm liquid mixing with rainwater as it streamed down his face. His expensive white Tom Ford shirt was mottled with blood and grime.

His left eye was almost sealed shut by the blood. He could only use his right eye to stare, fixed and crazed, at the woman on the other side of the glass wall.

Nora stood at the boarding gate, as still as a statue.

She had heard the commotion behind her, the suppressed gasps from the other passengers. She turned and, through the thick, soundproof glass, watched Ethan pound his fists against it like a caged beast.

His mouth opened and closed, silently roaring. An apology? A question? A threat?

It didn’t matter.

She slowly lifted her phone and turned the screen toward him.

It was their message history.

On the screen was every message she had sent for the past three years. Buying milk, anniversary dinner reservations, reminders to bring an umbrella, telling him the garage light was out… and the dozens of pleas for help she had sent while trapped in the wildfire.

Beneath every one of her blue bubbles was the same gray reply.

Got it.

Got it.

Got it.

Hundreds, thousands of them, stretching from the top of the screen to the bottom like a tombstone built of indifference.

Ethan froze.

The fist he had raised against the glass stopped in midair. His pupils shrank to pinpoints. It was as if an invisible force had pierced straight through him, pinning him in place.

His hand slid weakly down the glass, leaving five glaring streaks of blood.

Nora looked at him, her eyes empty of emotion.

Right there, in front of him, she pressed and held the screen.

The *Delete Conversation* option popped up. She tapped it.

A confirmation window appeared. She pressed *Yes*.

Ethan’s knees buckled, as if every bone in his spine had been ripped out at once. His body sagged against the glass wall. If the two officers hadn’t been holding him, he would have collapsed to the floor.

“Nora!”

He finally shouted, the sound hoarse and broken. But it couldn’t penetrate the glass. It was swallowed by the calm airport announcements and the hurried footsteps of travelers.

The plane broke through the clouds, piercing the brilliant California sun.

As Ethan was dragged toward the medical station, he kept twisting his head, staring at the glass wall.

At the boarding gate that was already empty.