A stranger beside me on a flight asked, “Could you pretend you fell asleep on my shoulder?” I almost said no. I had just left Chicago with my five-year-old daughter, two suitcases, and a marriage that had fallen apart three days earlier. But I agreed. Two hours later, I woke up still leaning against him—and discovered the quiet man beside me was one of the country’s best-known billionaires. Then my phone reconnected, and a message from my ex-husband appeared: I KNOW YOU TOOK FIONA TO NEW YORK. - Page 31

“There may not be reporters.”

“There were people filming Luca on the first flight.”

“That is a Luca problem, not a Blaire problem,” Miriam said. “And I mean that kindly.”

I laughed despite myself.

She continued.

“You need to be careful not to let his world swallow your case. Your case is about you, David, and Fiona.”

That sentence stayed with me.

Luca offered his plane.

My first instinct was to refuse simply because accepting felt too large.

Then I asked myself a better question.

Would private travel make the day easier for Fiona?

Yes.

So I accepted.

Not because Luca was a billionaire.

Because I was beginning to understand that independence did not mean refusing every kind thing offered to me.

It meant knowing why I was saying yes.

Chicago felt different when I returned.

The buildings were the same.

The roads were the same.

But I was no longer arriving as David’s wife trying to get back into her house.