Gate 7A, first class one way.
You see, 3 weeks ago, right after they first mentioned the Gree, I quietly started planning. I worked some overtime at the tech repair shop, picked up extra weekend gigs, even sold an old guitar I didn’t play anymore.
I booked my own ticket, not to Greece, somewhere better, somewhere none of them had even thought to go. Somewhere that was mine.
I kept it to myself. I didn’t even tell my best friend. I wanted the moment to feel clean, untouched by outside voices.
So, while they were finding their seats and giggling over flight snacks, I wheeled my suitcase three terminals over, past security again, and walked toward the gate like I belonged there.
Because for the first time in a long time, I did.
I belonged somewhere that wasn’t in the shadow of someone else’s spotlight.
As I reached the check-in counter, the flight attendant scanned my passport and smiled.
“Welcome aboard, Mr. Reyes.”
The weight in my chest eased just slightly. I nodded, smiled back, and stepped toward the jet bridge, feeling my phone vibrate with a text I didn’t bother checking.
I knew who it was from, probably asking if I remembered to water the plants, maybe reminding me to forward the mail.
They had no idea.
And that’s when the second part of my plan started to kick in because I hadn’t just booked a ticket. I’d left a note behind, a simple one.
It was sitting on the dining table at home, folded next to the emergency contact list. They always left for me like I was some kind of live-in security guard.
The note read, “Gone for a while, maybe longer. Don’t wait up. No drama, no confrontation, just a mirror.”
Because I wanted them to sit in that silence to realize for the first time that I wasn’t there, that I wasn’t available, that the person they always assumed would be holding the house together like some invisible foundation was no longer underneath them.
I settled into my seat, aisle, plenty of leg room, and exhaled for what felt like the first time in years.
And that’s when my phone buzzed again and again, then rang.
Still, I didn’t answer because they still didn’t know where I was going. And that wasn’t even the best part.
I didn’t check my phone until the plane was already in the air. I had my noiseancelling headphones on, a warm towel in hand, and a meal menu spread across my lap.
When curiosity finally got the better of me, I opened my messages expecting something like, “Did you remember to lock the side door or turn off the sprinklers after Monday?”
Instead, I saw six missed calls from my mom, three from my dad, and a flurry of texts in the family group chat, most of which started passive and spiraled fast.
Mo, Luca, where are you? You didn’t say goodbye.