Chapter 8: Epilogue: Departures and a Flicker

Epilogue:

Later, Grace’s condition was well controlled. In late summer, I saw Savannah and Grace off at the airport.

John Glenn Columbus International felt bright and clean—TSA PreCheck lines moving fast, a Starbucks near security perfuming the air. Families hugged, suitcases rolled.

I asked, “Do you regret marrying Travis?”

Savannah paused, her eyes thoughtful. The sunlight caught her hair, turning it gold.

She said, “No regrets. At first, I thought marrying without love would be miserable, but now I think it’s fine. Living together, he has a wife, a child, a warm bed. I have a husband to rely on. Isn’t that good enough? In the end, isn’t marriage always like this? Even those who marry for love end up just going through the motions after a few years. Aside from gambling, he’s a decent husband.”

In my head, a counter-voice whispered—good enough can be survival, but I want more. I promised myself I’d be better than the patterns that broke us.

I nodded. “Yeah, marriage always ends up like this.”

Even as I said it, I vowed to keep fighting for a version that didn’t settle.

Savannah asked, “What about you? Found the right girl yet?”

I fumbled a security tray, my backpack zipper snagging, and laughed at myself. “Working on it,” I said.

I said, “Yes, Savannah.”

She blushed. “Stop messing around.”

She punched my arm, laughing. The moment felt light, almost like old times.

I said, “Really. She’s an editor I work with, also called Savannah, but her ‘Savannah’ is spelled with two n’s.”

Names, I thought—how they loop and pull. Fate felt like a quiet echo.

Savannah was about to go through security, holding Grace’s hand and dragging a suitcase. She turned back and said, “I wish you and Savannah a happy life together.”

Her smile lingered, a blessing and a goodbye. I waved, heart full.

I said, “Thank you.”

The words felt final, the chapter closing at last.

Savannah and Grace disappeared into the security checkpoint. I turned to leave the airport, but suddenly saw the seventeen-year-old Savannah running toward me with her backpack.

The present thinned—the light turned warm as a gym in late fall, and the noise muffled like study hall. She rushed into my arms.

I hugged her tight. That year, I should’ve been a light bulb as bright as the sun, lighting up her life.

A boarding call clicked through the speakers like a switch, and in my chest the bulb turned on.

The light bulb kept rising, flying through the airport roof, over the runway, clinging to the wing, flickering.

My heart soared with it, hope and regret tangled together, carrying everything I’d ever wanted.

Under the night sky, the plane—carrying a flickering light—flew overhead, heading south.

I watched until it vanished, then turned north, chasing my own dreams into the Columbus night—as my phone buzzed in my pocket, a new message lighting the screen, and the city’s midnight hummed like the office where this all began.